Murder by Serpents (Five Star First Edition Mystery) (17 page)

“I'm afraid so.” He would much prefer to spend his Saturday working on his book or just hanging out with the boys. When he took the job as sheriff, he knew there would be times that his job would dictate his schedule. “Murder has to be considered a priority even if the victim
was
scum.”

He wondered if Mike and Dammit had found enough of a body to make an identification possible. What if they had found Daniel Crisp? No one but Nina claimed to have information on where he went. When he'd asked Theo about it, even she hadn't seen the note. On the other hand, no one had expressed any concern about his absence.

Theo looked like she was going to ask him something and then changed her mind. “Maybe I'll see if Karissa can stay with the boys today. They'll go nuts if they are locked inside at the shop.”

“Sounds good to me.” Tony eyed her pancakes. “Any more of those?”

Tony stopped at the newspaper office on his way to work. He carried with him an old police-booking photograph of Harold Usher Brown. The face, except for the oddly shortened eyelashes, did not much resemble the corpse that had been found in the car.

Winifred was editor, reporter and janitor at the little office.

The newspaper came out twice a week, Monday and Thursday evenings. Most people in the county read it from cover to cover because it contained lots of valuable information, if not news. There were listings of marriages and divorces, along with the listings of tickets written for everything from loose hogs to driving under the influence. Parents read the paper to learn who their children should not be dating.

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Winifred's face pinched into a point.

Tony had not been Winifred's favorite person ever since he had refused to go to the high school prom with her over twenty years ago. Since then, they developed a working relationship, but she had a chip on her shoulder.

He smiled. “I have a photo that the department would like you to publish. Any information we can get about his recent contacts and activities would be appreciated.”

Winifred studied the mug shot. “It's not a great photo. It could be my Uncle Elmer.”

“I know, but it's the best we have for now. Can you clean it up a bit?”

“Some. I'll put it on the front page of the next edition.” Winifred mumbled but did not look up from the photo. “You ought to ask Stan about him.”

“Stan?” Tony could only think of one Stan, and he hadn't seemed to know the dead man. “Stan-the-Snakeman?”

“Yep. Stan Livingston and this man were yelling at each other in the parking lot of the Food City. I'd know that yellow truck anywhere, and those weirdo eyelashes aren't too easy to forget either.” She thumped the photograph for emphasis. “Not that Stan is my favorite citizen, but this guy gave me the creeps.”

“Do you know what they were arguing about? Could you pick out any words?” Even as he asked, Tony found himself wondering what Winifred had against Stan.

“Nope.” Winifred placed the photo gently on the counter. “It didn't look like either of their vehicles got dinged in the parking lot, you know. It looked personal.”

The rain worsened.

At the station, Tony found Mike sitting in the hallway, waiting for him. Tony thought that he looked like he had aged about twenty years overnight. Eyes closed, he sat slumped on his spine on the plastic chair set aside for visitors. He still wore his uniform but it looked soggy. He shivered. Next to him, Dammit sprawled on the floor, sleeping, his back pressed against the wall. His long legs twitched with every snore that shook his heavy frame. The loose chestnut skin of his face pooled on the floor along with his ears, making it look as if his head had melted. The heavy towel that Mike had used to dry the dog only added to that impression. The dog used it for a pillow.

Seeing Tony, Mike jumped to attention. He held a sheaf of papers with both shaking hands. “Good morning, Sheriff.”

Tony felt sorry for him.

Mike probably hadn't gotten any more sleep the previous night than Tony had. The moonlight had been chased away by cold rain mixed with snow. By the time he got Lucy to her home and then to his own, he'd felt as frosty as an ice cube. Once in bed, it seemed to take forever until he warmed up. Then, visions of the recent events began flashing through his brain like a slide show, keeping him awake.

In spite of his turmoil about Mike searching for Ruby's baby, he knew in his heart that his deputy had not been responsible for her husband's death. At least the man would not have died until Mike had the answer to every one of his questions.

“Might as well come in and sit down.” Tony opened his door and made Mike precede him. He hung his dripping jacket on its hook. “Let's start with your search from yesterday. What did you find out at McMahan's farm?”

Mike remained standing. “According to Doc Nash, Dammit found enough pieces to make an adult male. The skull and pelvis established that much. We put everything we found into one body bag and now it is on the way to the state lab. Someone there will have to decide if all the pieces are from one guy and try to identify him. We didn't find three arms or anything weird like that. Doc didn't see any obvious cause of death like a bullet hole in the skull.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “He did notice something odd though. It seems that all of the upper teeth are gone and we never found the jawbone, so dental records won't help. Doc couldn't tell if the guy had teeth before his death.” Rubbing the stubble on his cheek, Mike seemed surprised that he hadn't shaved. “Must have missed a spot this morning.”

“How's Ruby?” Tony leaned back in his chair and fiddled with a pen, releasing the cap and then popping it back into place with his thumb. His eyes never left Mike's face.

“Frantic.” Mike strode forward, stopping just short of the desk. “I swear to God, Sheriff, I had no idea that her husband was anywhere in the state.” His skin turned gray. “If I had known, you can bet that I would have treated him like a prince.”

“At least until you learned what you needed to know.” The clicking sound made by the pen cap continued, neither speeding up nor slowing down.

“True.”

“Then what?”

“I don't know.” Mike shrugged and stared at the wall behind Tony's head for a long moment before looking back into Tony's eyes. “I don't think of myself as a violent man, but maybe it's better that I don't have to find out if I'm capable of doing something like that.” A shiver ran through him. “All those poisonous snakes in the car. The thought gives me the willies.”

Tony nodded, but his expression did not change. “You don't mind showing me your handcuffs, do you?”

Stone-faced, Mike dropped both pairs that he customarily carried onto Tony's deck. “They are mine. I always have my initials etched on them.”

“I know that, but you could have a drawer full of them at home.” Tony kept his voice mild, but there was a definite warning in it. He barely glanced at the cuffs before he handed them back to Mike and then rose from his chair and crossed to a small cabinet by the door. He pulled a blanket from the stack inside. “Put those cuffs away, sit down and tell me what you know for sure about Harold Brown. I'd guess that you are our resident expert on the man.”

Mike settled onto the chair and Tony tossed him the lightweight blanket. “Thanks, boss,” he said as he wrapped it around himself. “I can tell you that he was born and raised in North Carolina, not too far from here. His father bootlegged tobacco, strictly small time, and ran a little still on the side. All I've learned about him makes me think that our Mr. Brown discovered that stealing produced higher profits for even less work than his father did and took to a life of crime like the proverbial duck to water.”

Mike yawned. “He didn't finish high school. After he left home, he drifted in and out of every state in the southeast. You've seen his sheet. Arrests for robbery, drug possession, larceny plus innumerable smaller offensives. No convictions for anything major until he killed a man in a bar in Georgia. There wasn't even much of a fight. Witnesses said that the other guy complained about something petty and Hub just pulled out an old revolver and hauled off and shot the man, right between the eyes.”

“Sounds like a gem.” Closing his eyes, Tony rubbed the side of his nose with the side of his index finger. “So when did he take up serpents and religion, in general?”

“Prison.” Mike laced his fingers together. “Information gets a little more vague here, but evidently he had a near photographic memory and he claimed to have memorized the entire Bible. He did memorize at least most of the New Testament. I have to say that impresses me. I've never even read it cover to cover. If he had used his abilities in a positive manner, who knows what he might have accomplished, but he didn't.”

The sound of Dammit snoring in the hallway came through the open door. Mike appeared to relax a bit.

“Somewhere along the way, he decided that being a preacher would act like a free pass. His redemption and calling to religion impressed all kinds of people after he was released.” Mike shook his head in disbelief. “Since he served his whole sentence, there was no question of him violating parole. He has been involved in some questionable activities.”

“Like what?” Tony sat forward. “Anything that might supply motive?”

“Nothing definite. Relatives of an elderly woman in Columbus, Georgia, filed a complaint. They were sure he asked her for money and was the reason that she made some very large cash withdrawals.” Mike rubbed his eyes again. “There was no proof of wrongdoing, and she flatly denied it, so it was dropped.”

“Anything else?”

“Only whispers. Never any proof. Never any witnesses.” Mike frowned. “He moved a lot.”

“When you went on vacation last year and searched for him, what did you learn?” From the corner of his eye, Tony watched as Dammit wandered through the doorway and stopped and yawned before resting his enormous head on Mike's knee.

“He left Georgia and his congregation there in the fall. He told them that he had been called to preach in Mississippi and had them take up a special offering.” Mike's eyes dropped away as his hands seemed to disappear into the dog's loose skin. Petting the dog appeared to be his focus, but his eyes were haunted as they returned to meet Tony's. “He never said anything to anyone there about his ever having a wife or a little girl. Not one word.”

“That's probably when he headed up this way.”

Mike nodded. “I completely lost track of him.” A faint smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “It might have helped if I'd known that he was some shirttail cousin of Quentin's.”

“True, but maybe not.” Tony pointed to the open doorway with his thumb. “Go home. Get some sleep. You and Dammit both look like hell.”

As Tony watched the man and dog vanish, he thought that he understood and sympathized with Mike, but he realized that he had no true understanding of Hub's mind. A man who would steal his own child away from her mother, beat any woman, or use his ability with words to fleece a congregation seemed as far from his own personality as anyone could get.

The man deserved killing, no doubt about it, but Tony believed that the deed should have been done by the state, not by a private party, at least not in his county. He could feel the heat of anger surge through his veins. Whoever had done it had better stay away from Tony's family. He groaned. Maybe Theo was right about the knife in his teeth and guns blazing. He certainly felt murderous enough.

Minutes after Mike left, Ruth Ann buzzed him on the intercom. “Sheriff?” Her voice carried through the room, as soft as air and as sweet as honeysuckle. As far as he was concerned, that sound carried more menace than the rattles on a snake. “You have a visitor.”

Tony wanted to fling himself under his desk and hide.

“Sheriff, Mr. Lundy is out here.” Amusement filtered through Ruth Ann's voice. “He says that he has something important that he needs to tell you.”

Tony groaned. Eighty if he was a day, Orvan Lundy seemed to have a burning need to confess to any number of crimes as long as they were ones that he hadn't actually committed. Old Orvan was neither a saint nor a particularly nice man. It wouldn't surprise Tony if the man had committed worse crimes than killing Hub.

“Put him in the greenhouse and give him some coffee, would you? I'll be there in just a few minutes.” He thought they might as well let the little guy stew for a while.

Tony could already picture the man. He invariably came dressed in clean, but well-worn, overalls. The collar button on his long sleeve plaid shirt would be fastened. It was part of his outfit, no matter how hot the day. Tony was sure that Orvan would have dyed his gray hair with black shoe polish for the occasion.

A glimmer of amusement lifted Tony's spirits as he recalled one summer day when the air conditioning had been out and Orvan had been confessing to something. The oily shoe polish had melted and dripped down the sides of his face. His attempts to wipe it away had resulted in a series of smudges that resembled jungle camouflage. Tony grinned. Maybe he could use a little amusement after all.

When Tony joined them in the sparsely furnished little room, Ruth Ann and Orvan were chatting companionably about her nail polish. From what Tony could gather, Orvan wondered if she thought that it would make a better hair coloring technique than a scrap of cloth and a tin of shoe polish.

Ruth Ann looked like she might encourage him to try it.

As soon as they spotted him, Orvan jumped to his feet and saluted. His liver-spotted hand hit him square in the right eye and he emitted a squeak.

“Sit down, Orvan. You don't have to salute me. This is not the military for heaven's sake.” As the man complied, Tony could see that today his choice of shoe polish had changed from black to more of a reddish-brown. “New hair color?”

“Yes, sir.” He lifted his hand almost touching the polish before he lowered it slightly. “Do you like it?”

Tony watched as Orvan smoothed his sideburns, using only the tip of one finger. As usual, he had tinted only the hair on the very top of his head, leaving his sideburns the same soft gray as mouse fur.