Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 02 - River Mourn (14 page)

Although sounds were
muffled by
the wooden crate, Rosswell heard someone he assumed was
Charlie Heckle shuffle into the alley.

“You Ollie?”

Ollie planted his carcass directly in front of
Rosswell’s line of sight. He groaned in frustration. He didn’t want to see Ollie’s
butt, he wanted to see Charlie’s face.

“I am Ollie Groton.”

“You got something for me?”

“Who are you?”

Ollie shunted to the side so Rosswell, if he placed
his eyeglasses on a spot between a couple of slats, could see a man about five
and a half feet tall, brown hair, with a big scar on his face. Ollie had
earlier told Rosswell that Captain LaFaire’s description of all the men on the
ferry were vanilla. This one was vanilla with a scar.

“Charlie Heckle.”

The man had hesitated a couple of seconds.
Aha!
Using an alias!
When asked their name, people generally respond quickly or
not at all. But waiting for a microsecond too long meant that the person had
something to hide.

Ollie held out the sack of coins. “I’ve got something
for you.”

Ollie blocked the view again. Rosswell heard the
crinkle of a paper bag and the jingling of coins. Charlie checking to make sure
all his money was there. More crinkling. More jingling. Charlie stuffing the
bag in his pocket. Charlie was dead if he stayed in Ste. Gen after this
meeting. The money would be enough to get him out of town. Six hundred dollars
might take him to New Orleans or Detroit or Denver or Louisville. Rosswell
couldn’t deduce Charlie’s plan. Why was Charlie even talking to Ollie? Was the scar-faced
man that desperate to get away from Nathaniel? Obviously. Charlie realized that
the paper bag had enough money to get his sorry ass out of Nathaniel’s sight.

Ollie said, “What is it you want to tell me?”

“Nathaniel is running River Heights Villa.”

“I know. It’s in the phone book. County records show
him buying the place ten years ago.”

“He’s smuggling dope.”

“I know that, too.”

“He killed Ribs Freshwater and he’s after Judge Carew.”

“Give me the silver back, Charlie. You haven’t told me
anything I don’t already know.”

“No, wait.” Rosswell detected a change in Charlie’s breathing.
He panted. Charlie was in the throes of a major stress attack.

Rosswell’s suspicions were confirmed. Heckle needed that
silver to run away.

Ants proceeded to climb up Rosswell’s leg, the biggest
ants he’d ever seen. Red, big ants. Fire ants. Did Ste. Gen have fire ants? There
was a rumor going around that fire ants had hitched a ride on hay shipped from
Florida a couple of years ago. Rosswell tried to quiet himself. He’d heard that
if you were real still, fire ants wouldn’t bite. That quickly proved to be an
old wives’ tale. A couple of the nasty critters injected hot needles into him. Rosswell
bit his tongue to keep the moan forming deep in his chest from spilling out of
his mouth. As an additional measure, he slapped his palm across his mouth. The
box stank. He was burning up. Fire ants devoured him.

Rosswell moaned. He clamped his hand harder across his
mouth. Had they heard him? Another look through the slats confirmed they had
not.

“Come on, Charlie. It’s hot and you’re wasting my
time. Hand over the money.”

Ollie held out his hand.

“The dead woman’s in a cave.”

Ollie dropped his hand.

Holy
crap!
Rosswell held his breath, not wanting to miss a single
syllable of what Charlie said. A couple of ants explored his face. He couldn’t
believe something so little could make him burn like the devil. He mashed as
many of the little bastards as he could. The slightest noise must be avoided.
Charlie teetered on the verge of giving Ollie enough info to find the dead woman.
If they found her body, Sheriff Fribeau would want Rosswell to stay and help
investigate. Right? Rosswell brushed at the ants he’d missed killing, hoping he
wasn’t making any noise. The stench of the ant’s defensive formic acid bit his
nose and made his mouth feel like he was chewing copper.

“What dead woman?”

That’s right, Ollie. Make him say it. If it’s Tina,
then that’s the end of me.

“The one Ribs threw off the ferry.”

Hallelujah! That wasn’t Tina!

“Was she dead when Ribs threw her off the ferry?”

“Yeah.”

“How come no one saw Ribs throw her off?”

“I didn’t know he was going to do that. All I was
supposed to do was bang the side of the boat and get everybody’s attention.
Ribs told me he was going to dump a load of dope because the cops were closing
in. I didn’t know nothing about no dead woman.”

Lying sack of crap. Charlie didn’t know there was a
dead woman in the van? Right. And I have a hundred acres of swampland in Nevada
for sale cheap.

“How do you know where she is now?”

“Me and Ribs went looking for her and found her stuck
on a log. We drug her up the cliff to a cave and put her in there.”

Rosswell wondered why they didn’t put the dead woman in
the cave in the first place. Why throw her off the ferry?

“Why did you throw her in the river if you knew you
needed her body later?”

Good one, Ollie.

“I didn’t know nothing. I did what I was told.”

“Where’s this cave?”

“On the river.”

Rosswell couldn’t decide whether the ants crawling on
both of his legs or Charlie’s evasive answers were irritating him worse.

Ollie said, “Any landmarks?”

“What’s a landmark?”

“Tell me how to get from here to the cave where the woman’s
body is.”

Judging by Ollie’s tone, Rosswell could tell that he’d
reached the point of a screaming rage and systematic thumping party, with
Charlie being the only guest. This was the problem when Rosswell wasn’t present
when Ollie interviewed suspects. Ollie’s tolerance for frustration was exceptionally
low. Rosswell should be standing next to Ollie, not sitting in a wooden crate
roasting in the heat and suffering from the bites of industrious ants.

Charlie said, “There’s that big bluff with all the
trees and shit on it. Look out—”

A loud beeping interrupted Charlie.

Ollie yelled, “Charlie, get back here.” No answer from
Charlie.

Rosswell heard a whistle from the train track running
through town a couple of blocks away.

Charlie’s gone, jumping the southbound train. Next
stop, Memphis, Tennessee.

“Hey. You.” A new voice. A guy on foot.

Ollie said, “What?”

A second new voice. “Get out the way. We’re hauling
trash.” A guy driving a trash truck.

The beeping started again. Through a crack, Rosswell watched
the truck backing up to the garbage bin next to him. The claw grabbed the bin. Upended
it into the maw of the truck. The guy on foot said, “Make kindling and I’ll
load it.” The guy motioned the truck to back up. A huge pair of metal arms slid
into either side of the box. Cracking sounds split the air. The metal arms splintered
the wood.

Rosswell missed death by inches.

“Stop!” He pushed the lid off the box. “Time to leave.”

“Freaking frost!” Ollie said. “What’re you doing in
that box?”

“I can’t get out.”

The guy on foot and Ollie grabbed Rosswell and tugged
him out of the crate.

The truck driver said to Rosswell and Ollie, “You
fricking bums gotta stay out of boxes and bins and stuff. We don’t wanna kill
youse.”

The guy on foot stared at Ollie and Rosswell. “You’re
dressed awful good for bums. You steal them clothes?”

Ollie said, “We worked for these clothes. We don’t
steal.”

Rosswell brushed ants and brushed more ants till he
was certain he was free from all of the nasty things. “Thanks. We won’t bother
you anymore.”

“Hey,” said the driver to Rosswell. “You look
familiar.”

Rosswell recognized the man he’d given a divorce to earlier
in the week. “No, you don’t know me. I got into town early this morning and, in
fact, I’m leaving right this very instant.” Several stray ants worked
themselves out of Rosswell’s hair.

“That’s right,” Ollie said. “This is my cousin from Paducah.
He’s had some hard times and he’s headed for Chicago, looking for work.”

The driver raced the engine and waved them off. “Get
outta here. We’re running behind.”

After Mabel barred Rosswell and Ollie from the restaurant,
claiming that their appearance and smell were offensive, the disgraced pair sat
on a bench in front of the courthouse. Rosswell said a prayer of thanks to the
Goddess of Good Fortune that the place had closed for the day. He certainly
wouldn’t want one of the court clerks to see him smelly and dirty.

“Ollie, if this detective work keeps up the way it’s
been going so far, I’ll be forced to declare bankruptcy.”

“There are six ants dancing down your pants leg.”

“I hate fire ants!” Rosswell brushed the offending
critters onto the sidewalk.

“If you’d been attacked by fire ants, you’d be lying
in the alley screaming. The ones in the alley are
Pogonomyrmex barbatus
.
Although generally found
more southwest of here—”

“Forget it!” Rosswell stomped on every ant he could
find. “Back to detective stuff. Maman was talking about two caves. That’s why
Lazar came down on me so hard for not listening to what she’d said.”

“We went in two caves.”

“I mean two separate caves. Where we were counted as
one cave with two rooms.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Ollie placed his fingers over his
mouth in a thinking gesture. After he sniffed, he rubbed his hands on his pants
and left them at his side. “Tell me again what Maman said.”

“ ‘Cave of one eye have much treasure. Cave of blind
eye, she holds a treasure but not what you seek.’ ”

Rosswell wiped his hands on his pants, then rubbed the
sweat from his face with his shirtsleeve. A cloud passed over the sun, lowering
the temperature maybe a half-degree.

“Judge, we screwed up.”

“I just said that very thing. There are two separate caves,
not one cave with two rooms. There’s a cave of one eye and a cave of blind eye.
Which one did we go into?”

“I’m guessing cave of blind eye, since it was next to
a cave with light. The cave with light didn’t count to Maman. The blind cave
held a treasure, which was Ribs Freshwater’s body, but it wasn’t what we were
seeking. We need to find the cave of one eye which has much treasure.”

“The dead woman.”

“Judge Carew, the cigar is in the mail.”

“However, Ribs’s body wasn’t exactly a treasure.”

Ollie stood. “Let’s go tell the sheriff.”

“No. If I’m right, the Fribeau network connects
directly to Nathaniel.”

“I’ve had it for
today.”
Rosswell’s energy faded with the setting sun.

Ollie placed himself between the sun and Rosswell,
casting a long shadow. “Why do you think Sheriff Fribeau is connected to Nathaniel?”

“Let’s walk.” Rosswell also stood. “I don’t think
that. I didn’t say that Gustave and Nathaniel were connected.”

“That’s exactly what you said.”

“Let me modify that. Lazar Fribeau knows that you
talked to Charlie Heckle. That means that Sheriff Gustave Fribeau knows it,
too. Charlie spilled his stinking guts to Nathaniel.” Rosswell blinked rapidly.
“Charlie Heckle said something. What was it?”

“Charlie said lots of stuff.”

“Gustave knows Charlie. Maybe that connects him to
Nathaniel.”

“That’s your suspicion talking. You don’t have any
proof.”

There was something odd in the conversation between
Ollie and Charlie, but Rosswell had crunched down on something in his mouth,
shutting off his detective mode before he could discover the oddity. Was an ant
in his mouth? It tasted bitter. He spit before he spoke. “Gustave said he knew
all about our visit to Maman before it happened. Who do you think told him?”

“Lazar. Doesn’t mean Gustave is connected to Nathaniel.”

“You’re right.”

“And one other thing.”

“What?”

“If Gustave already knows I talked to Charlie, then if
I don’t tell him what Charlie said, he’ll find some excuse to throw me in jail.”

“The law doesn’t work that way.”

Ollie guffawed.

Rosswell said, “I mean, it’s not supposed to work that
way.”

“Then what do you suggest we do? Keep a look out for
someone who knows about caves?”

Rosswell clapped when he recognized the oddity in
Charlie’s conversation. “That’s it. What you said. Ollie, you’re a genius.”

“I already know that. If you’re fishing for compliments,
the water is dead.”

Mabel relented, allowing Rosswell and Ollie to eat supper in
her storeroom.

Rosswell said, “First we go find Frankie Joe Acorn. It’s
Daylight Saving Time. The sun won’t set for a while.” He smacked a couple of
times, tasting the remnants of the rib roast he’d chowed down. It went a long
way toward diluting the ant taste lingering in his mouth. He thanked God his
stomach had settled enough to eat a full meal. “Let’s go.”

“You have your pistol?”

Rosswell patted the Smith & Wesson 442 Airweight .38
Special, normally holstered in a suitcase under his bed, now resting at the small
of his back under his shirt. “The deputies let me detour around the metal
detector at the courthouse.”

Even as Rosswell hefted the gun, he told himself to
forget it. He wasn’t going to shoot anyone again. Not today. Not next week or
next month. Not ever again. Shooting someone changes a minimum of two lives for
the bad, not to mention that it generated a lot of paperwork.

When they reached the trailer, Frankie Joe answered
the door.

“You the guys who’ve been asking questions all over
the county?”

Rosswell said, “Yes,” and Ollie nodded in agreement.

Frankie Joe sized up the pair. “Come on in. Take a
load off.”

Susannah—again dressed head to toe in black—inclined
her head slightly toward Rosswell and Ollie. “Coffee?” She sniffed a couple of
times.

“I’d love some.” Rosswell hoped he and Ollie didn’t
smell too rotten. “The stronger the better. And I need lots of sugar.”

“Thank you, yes.” Ollie smiled. “I’ve been practicing
my manners.”

Rosswell, gathered with the other three around the
kitchen table, spoke first. “Tell me what happened on the ferry last Sunday.”

Frankie Joe blew on his coffee. “Turk Malone and I
were standing by my car, talking about the weather, how hot it was. This was
around 6:00 AM. I’m pretty sure it was the first run of the ferry for that day.”

Frankie Joe picked up a pitcher of cream and poured it
in his coffee. “Anyway, I heard a banging noise on the other side of the boat,
the side where the tug was. A guy standing over there yelled, like he was
scared of something. I ran over to see what the problem was.” Frankie Joe
stopped speaking and clinked a spoon in his cup, probably trying to remember
something. “The deck hand—Jasmine LaFaire—was messing with some ropes. She didn’t
seem concerned at all. I asked her if there was a problem but she said it was a
log or something. The river’s up and the same thing happened several times the
day before. No big deal.” Frankie Joe added more cream. “That’s all I know about
it.”

Susannah lit three candles, no doubt the odor eating
kind.

Rosswell’s nose went to work. There was a cinnamon
scent in the air. He thought he remembered vanilla candles from their previous
visit and wondered if Susannah lit different scents on different days. He
yanked his mind back to the reason for their visit.

“Did you know the guy who was at the side of the boat?”
he asked Frankie Joe.

“I didn’t then, but I know now that his name was
Charlie Heckle.”

“Was?”

“Is.”

Rosswell said, “How do you know that now?”

Susannah cleared her throat. “Small towns. You know
how people talk.”

“Right.” Frankie Joe looked at his wife. “I heard it
around.”

Ollie said, “Did you see an Indian there on the boat?”

“Yeah, I did. Ribs Freshwater. Everybody knew him. He
was a friendly guy. Too bad he got murdered.”

Ollie said, “Murders are generally bad.”

Rosswell said, “Do you ride that ferry much?”

“Practically every day during the growing season.”

“The growing season?”

“I’m a farm machine mechanic. Those bottomland farms in
Illinois are flat and big. They have lots of machinery that’s always needing fixing.”

Rosswell memorized the guy’s physical description,
especially his hands, before he continued the questioning.

“Does Turk Malone work in Illinois?”

“He goes over there a lot. I don’t know where he
works.” Frankie Joe laughed. “I don’t know
if
he works.”

“He doesn’t work on farm equipment?”

Susannah said, “He’s a dope pusher.”

Frankie Joe said, “If I were a betting man, I’d bet on
what my wife said.”

Ollie said, “Why’s that?”

“Turk Malone smells like a doper.”