Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 03 (14 page)

-- ==+== --

After I'd done the paperwork and abandoned Johnna Mae to the care of the county jail, I drove to the main bank on the square. A security guard directed me to the basement, where I found all sorts of harried people bent over old-fashioned ledgers and new-fangled computers. The head bookkeeper, Mrs. Gadwall, seemed on the greenish side as she admitted they'd uncovered well over two thousand dollars of bogus loans thus far and still had seven months' worth of records to go. A full-scale internal audit would begin over the weekend, and the federal bank examiners would descend thereafter. She sounded as if she planned to report to work Monday morning in battle fatigues and a helmet.

Sherman Oliver came out of an office and joined us. "This is a sorry mess, Chief Hanks. I trusted Johnna Mae Nookim to handle the day-to-day operations at the branch. I never thought for a moment that she would embezzle money from the very institution that considered her part of the family. Why, if she'd come to me and explained how desperate she was, I would have done everything in my power to help her. Now she's got herself in a deep well and there's not a ladder long enough to rescue her."

"I've booked her at the county jail. The county prosecutor will call you in a day or so for a formal statement. Our investigation will continue, of course, until we find out who murdered Bernswallow and set the fire."

"Then there's no way the death and the fire could have been accidental?"

"It doesn't look that way," I said. "The evidence has been sent to the state crime lab, and the body to the same place for an autopsy. Until we learn otherwise, we're operating under the assumption it was murder."

He closed his eyes and groaned softly. "But you're not sure?"

"No, we're not sure. But as long as I'm here, I'd like to ask you a few questions about yesterday evening and last night. Is there someplace we can speak?"

"My office is there." He led the way to a unadorned box with cracks in the walls and a mildewed blotch on the ceiling above his desk. "When I was a veep, I had walnut paneling and potted plants. Now that I do nothing but portfolio work, they've assigned me to the bowels of the building. No need to present any amenities to the public, you see."

I nodded and asked him when he'd left the branch the previous evening. He said he'd departed first, which confirmed what Miss Una had told me. I then asked him if he'd spoken to Brandon on his way out.

"Yes," he admitted, "we discussed which of us ought to call Bernswallow Senior and other board members to warn them of what would appear on the six o'clock news. Brandon said he felt he could convey the situation more delicately, and I concurred with the alacrity of a yellow-bellied coward. Despite the impending unpleasantness, he seemed quite chipper when I left."

That fit into my theory that Brandon was planning to blackmail Johnna Mae at some later hour. I was about to ask him if he'd had any hint that Brandon knew of the bogus loans when the telephone rang.

Oliver flinched as if it had tried to bite him. "Sorry about this. I told the receptionist upstairs to hold all my calls, but she rarely pays attention to my orders." The telephone continued to ring. He finally picked up the receiver, gave me an apologetic shrug, and said, "Yes?"

While he listened, I glanced around at the unattractive decor, which consisted of clippings and reprints of financial charts, a worn map of Arkansas, and a faded diploma that informed all perusers that Sherman Oliver was a graduate in good standing of a private college in Conway.

"A told you to cancel the order!" he snapped, regaining my attention. He caught my look and lowered his voice. "The damn examiners will be here by the first of the week. The one thing I don't need is this flimsy thing in the portfolio. Cancel it, and keep trying to unload what we talked about earlier. Call me at home."

He replaced the receiver. "Just one of those pesky bond peddlers. I deal with them all the time, but they're still annoying. They lose all perspective when they're on commission."

"Tell me about a bank's portfolio," I said. "I've never understood what a bank does with all that lovely money."

"It's very, very complex, and not especially intriguing. The banks keeps a reserve to cover all activities in all accounts, then utilizes any additional assets to invest in a variety of bonds in order to earn a profit for its stockholders. I select the bonds on the basis of maintaining a diverse yet conservatively profitable portfolio. I'm sure you find this tedious and confusing, my dear. Do you have any further questions about last night?"

"What did you do after you said good-bye and left the building?"

"I stopped at the edge of the parking lot to have a word with my wife. I was very upset about her decision to participate in the demonstration, and told her as much. We have been married for thirty years, however, and have always had the greatest respect for each other. When I realized I could not dissuade her from her chosen course of action, I wished her a comfortable night on her army cot and went home.

"Did you go out after that, or have any telephone calls?"

"I closed the draperies, took the telephone off the hook, locked the den door, and poured myself the first of what was to be a series of very stiff drinks. If someone came by and rang the doorbell, I was unaware of it. I was deeply upset by the events of the afternoon and evening, and I was hardly in the mood for company. I was sound asleep when Truda came home to tell me about the fire."

"You had no inkling until today that Johnna Mae was embezzling small sums from the branch?"

"None whatsoever."

"And you have no idea whether Bernswallow or Miss Una might have suspected as much?"

"No." He made a production of checking his watch, then stood up. "I have a meeting with the board of directors in five minutes. They are as interested as you in what has transpired at the branch. I'm sure they would appreciate promptness on my part."

Despite his pomposity, I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. I thanked him and went to the main room to find Mrs. Gadwall. She agreed to send all the final reports to the sheriff's office, as well as the findings of the auditors and federal bank examiners.

I thanked her, then left the bank and went to the state police barracks for something. Congratulations, sympathy, praise, a beer. Anything.

-- ==+== --

"Kevvvin," Dahlia bleated as she put her foot right on a cow patty, and a moist one at that. Sweat was more than streaming down her back; it was bouncing and cascading like that Niagara Falls place where honeymooners went. If'n she didn't find Kevin, she wasn't ever gonna have a honeymoon, she thought while she scraped her shoe on a rotten log. The bag was getting mighty uncomfortable, and the plastic against her back was making her even hotter.

She lowered herself gingerly onto the far end of the log. It creaked, but it didn't break, so she wiggled around until the bark stopped poking her rear too much, opened the bag, and took out a bologna sandwich. Ever mindful of her mission, she bleated Kevin's name one more time before stuffing half the sandwich into her cavernous mouth.

As she ruminated, she tried to think why Kevin wasn't answering her. She was pretty sure he was in the woods somewhere in these parts, because she had a real firm vision of him stumbling out the back of the bank, blinded by the smoke, and stumbling across the road into the woods behind the old feed store. Originally she'd envisioned that he'd stumbled across the highway to the national forest, but after some pondering, realized that someone would have seen him stumbling thataway and therefore he'd been obliged to stumble thisaway, across the county road alongside the bank.

Besides, everybody knew the national forest was about a thousand acres of thorns, scrub brush, prickly pines, snakes, chiggers, ticks, and who knows what-all. This side was more like twenty acres and backed on the pasture that eventually sloped to the subdivision with the cute cul-de-sacs. While she worked on a second sandwich, Dahlia assured herself that Kevin would have preferred to stumble around in twenty acres.

It seemed more sensible to sit and bleat than to get scraped by branches and risk twisting an ankle on a root. If both of them kept moving, why, they could miss each other for days and not even know it.

"Kevvvin," she howled as she took out a ham salad sandwich and a banana. She figured it was real important to keep up her strength.

-- ==+== --

Kevin thought it was the best chocolate cake he'd ever eaten in his entire life, right down to the fudge icing decorated with pecan halves. His ma wouldn't let him have chocolate because of pimples popping up when he did, so he was right pleased when the issue wasn't mentioned. He was even more pleased when his request for a third piece was seen to briskly.

He flipped over to the page with the fillet knives. The stainless steel ones were the best, he decided, even if they were a sight more expensive than he'd thought.

10

"Registrar's office."

"This is Ms. Martin at the attorney general's office in Little Rock. We need some information concerning one of your graduates from the law school up that way," the woman said in a nasal whine that was almost impossible to understand. "And also about a business student a couple of years back."

"You'll have to submit your requests in writing. We require three copies of each, plus notarized authorizations from the students involved. All records and transcripts are sealed."

"Oh, we don't want to worry ourselves about a bunch of paperwork, do we? I don't want to know about their grades or how they deported themselves. I just want to know if they were there at the same time. Maybe if they had any classes together or something like that."

"Three copies, and the notarized authorizations from the students involved."

"But this is the attorney general's office. You have to tell me what I need to know or we'll persecute you. You do realize we can put anybody we want to in jail, don't you? And if we've a mind to, just throw away the key?"

The only thing the secretary in the registrar's office realized was that it was four o'clock, and she would be on her way to the beer garden in a manner of minutes. "Have at it," she suggested, already salivating over the idea of an icy cold beer sliding down her throat, while the band set up for the show and all her friends wandered by.

"Now listen here, Miss Snooty Pants, unless you want to find yourself in a whole passel of trouble, you tell me if Carolyn McCoy attended the law school up there and if she did, what years. And also if -- "

The secretary hung up the receiver, grabbed her purse, and wished everyone a nice evening. It was still hot, but the beer garden was always shady and the beer always cold. A dynamic duo.

-- ==+== --

When I got back to Maggody, I stopped at the PD and made a list of all the women who'd participated in the demonstration. I then mentally ran over the trucks that had been parked across the highway and did my best to write down the names of the silent vigilantes. I counted for a minute; at forty-seven, I lost heart, stopping midway down the second page.

The PD was a damn brick oven preheated to broil. The air conditioner clearly had ceased working hours ago, either while I was talking to Sherman Oliver or sipping a soda at the trooper barracks. My Alaska pamphlets were on the desk. I found one with a vivid photograph of a glacier and fanned myself with it as I chose my first victim for the Arly Hanks third degree. The selection was based on the rumor that one of our good citizens had recently acquired the newest, flashiest, iciest air conditioner on the market, a veritable state-of-the-goddamn-art miracle. And away I went. Raz Buchanon came to the door in a baggy stained undershirt and a baggier, stainier pair of khaki trousers. He gave me a spotty yet sincere grin. "Howdy, Arly. Hot enough for ya?"

"I thought you bought a new air conditioner," I said through the screen. "Why aren't you running it?"

"I did, and I is."

I waited politely while he sent an arch of tobacco juice toward a Tupperware bowl in the middle of the braided rug. "But then don't you think you ought to close the windows and doors?" I asked him.

"Why in tarnation would I do that? This ol' house gits hotter than a fiddler's elbow if I close it up."

We blinked at each other, equally bewildered. "But, Raz," I said, enunciating slowly and carefully so he could follow each word, "if you leave the windows and doors open, the air conditioner can't cool the house. You'll end up cooling the yard and running up a whopper of an electricity bill."

He chawed on that for a minute, then slapped his belly and cackled. "You got it all cattywampus, Arly. I never aimed to cool this house with that contraption. I put it in the little shed I built for my hogs. I got me one of those fancy show sows. Name's Marjorie and she's in the family way. When it got so dadburned hot, her poor ears and tall started a-drooping and she got a real sad look in her eyes. Finally I couldn't stand it no more and bought the air cooler for her shed."

"Sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking straight. I came by to see if you noticed anything out of the ordinary at the bank last night."

"There was a fire what burned it to the ground." He was idly scratching his armpit, but he was watching me real close.

"I'm aware of the fire. I just wondered if you saw anybody going behind the bank, or acting in a suspicious manner."

He switched to the opposing pit. "Earl Buchanon was mumbling and fretting something awful, and Jeremiah was carrying on the same way. Is that what you mean?"

"Closer, Raz. All the women were in the lot, and all the spectators were across the highway on the Assembly Hall lawn. Was there anyone else you might have noticed?"

"I seem to recollect someone." He scratched and chawed and spit for a minute, then grinned. "That Nookim feller was hiding in the bushes beside the Assembly Hall. I think mebbe he was waiting for Brother Verber, because I heard the preacher say something and there weren't nobody else in earshot."

"Thanks," I said, trying to hide a frown. I started down the porch steps, then stopped and looked back. "Why were you there, Raz?"

"My damn fool VCR is broken. There wasn't a single network show Marjorie and I could agree on, so we moseyed down to the far end of town to see what was happening. She stayed in the truck, of course, because of her delicate condition. She's right shy about it."

That is a direct quote. I swear it..

I drove past Ruby Bee's, noting that an unfamiliar car had joined Estelle's station wagon and Carolyn's subcompact, and turned left on the county road. I bumped across the cattle guard at the entrance of the Pot O' Gold and wound through the mobile homes to the Nookim residence. Earl Boy was not in sight, thus saving me from a major moral dilemma in that I'd locked his mama in jail but I still couldn't tolerate the thwacks.

Putter, dressed in the same apron and with the baby in his arms, watched me as I came up to the door. "What now, Arly?" he said without spirit. "Is there news about what they're fixing to do to Johnna Mae?"

"Nothing will happen until Monday, when she's arraigned. The judge will appoint an attorney for her, and he'll do what he can to get her out on bail."

"We can't pay an attorney and we don't have any money for bail."

"The attorney's services are free. Maybe your neighbors can chip in on the bail money," I said, sounding more optimistic than I felt. "But there's something I need to ask you about last night. What time did Johnna Mae come back here to kiss the children good night?"

"Hang on a minute." He disappeared into the dim interior and came back with neither apron nor wee Nookim. "I didn't look at the clock. She wasn't here more than five minutes before she said she had to get back to the bank and take guard duty."

"What'd she say about the demonstration? She told me on the way to Farberville that you asked how long it would last and was there enough kerosene to keep the lanterns going all night."

He tugged on his forelock and sighed. "Yeah, we talked for a little while."

"On the sidewalk, she told me, while you walked her out to the gravel road?" I prompted, not especially fond of myself. Mendacity always strikes me that way.

"Yeah, on the sidewalk." He stopped tugging on his hair and gave me a narrow look. "Why are you asking all this? Are you trying to get at something so you can keep Johnna Mae locked up for the next fifty years?"

"No, Putter, I'm not. I'm trying to get to the bottom of what happened last night. You and Johnna Mae didn't have the conversation because you weren't here. Who baby-sat for the kids while you were gone?"

"Who says I wasn't here?"

"Someone saw you in the bushes beside the Assembly Hall. The witness theorized that you were waiting for Brother Verber, but I don't agree. What were you doing?"

"I was worried about Johnna Mae. I wanted to make sure she was okay."

"You don't have to tell me any of this," I said bleakly. "You don't have to testify against your wife."

"She may have borrowed some money without asking, but I know for a fact she didn't kill Bernswallow and set that fire, and I ain't afraid to testify about that."

"Then who did?" His expression turned exceedingly blank. "I can't say right now. I had Earl Boy mind the young 'uns while I slipped over to the Assembly Hall to check on Johnna Mae. I didn't want her to see me because she'd have been perturbed about the kids being left alone, even for a few minutes. It was kind of dark in the lot and it took me a while to spot her. I guess that was when she'd gone home. Once I saw her with that WAACO woman, I hustled straight back here."

"Do you mind if I ask Earl Boy what time his ma came home for a brief visit?"

"I already asked him, and he doesn't know. He says he went to sleep as soon as I left. When I got back, I carried him into the bedroom."

He was blinking like a toad in a hailstorm, and I didn't buy much of his story. As I left I told him to stick around, I'd be back later for a statement.

It didn't sound like Johnna Mae'd come home during her absence from the demonstration. The two had cooked up the story of the visit to cover whatever she'd done during that time. Putter wasn't going to tell me what he saw from his post across the street. He sure as hell wasn't going to tell me he'd seen his wife sneak around the corner from the back of the bank.

She was smart enough to have embezzled money for three years without raising any suspicions. She was hefty enough to have smashed a blunt instrument over Bernswallow's head. She was dumb enough to think burning the bank would cover the petty thefts, or at least confuse things so we might not stumble across them. She had motive, means, and opportunity.

I went to the PD to call the sheriff, but as I reached for the telephone, it rang. I picked it up and ungraciously muttered my name.

"This is Francis Merganser, Chief Hanks. Sergeant Plover made a friendly call to the crime lab, and they've agreed to do a rush job for us, at least on the evidence we sent this morning. I can't write up my official report until the middle of next week, but I can relate the gist of it now if you're interested." When I admitted that I was, he said, "I had the film developed at one of those one-hour places and I've been studying the prints real close. I think it's safe to say that the fire had two points of origin: one was that pile of wadded paper next to the desk and the other was a metal wastebasket off in the corner behind the desk. The former did all the damage; the latter didn't spread, since it was contained. All it did was leave a mark on the wall."

"Can you determine which was lit first?"

"I think we can assume that whoever set the bank on fire didn't fight his way through the flames and smoke to burn something in a metal trash can," he said, trying not to imply I was the all-time stupidest person he'd ever met. The implication was hard to miss.

"Good point," I said. "What about the contents of the wastebasket? Was there anything left?"

"The lab boys may be able to do some restoration. You ought to hear from them in a day or so. Your buddy Plover came down on them like a ton of bricks." Chuckling, Merganser told me to have a nice day and rang off before I could reply that I had other plans. Being told to have a nice day ranked just behind being asked if it was hot enough for me (hell no, I love being parboiled in my own sweat).

I called Harve and told him what I'd learned. We hashed it around for a few minutes, but we didn't get very far. Two different fires were hard to explain; it would have been more expedient to put whatever was in the metal trash can on the floor with the other paper kindling. We did agree there wasn't any big rush to file murder and arson charges against Johnna Mae and that it would be quite nice to hear from the state lab before the Monday morning arraignment. Harve then mumbled something about a budget meeting with the quorum court and told me to keep up the good work (darn, I was looking forward to a major screwup). Said phrase fit neatly behind the heat poser.

I took out my list and decided to see if Elsie McMay had noticed anything worth noticing. I didn't think for a moment that I'd hear much, but I was fairly confident I'd be offered iced tea and the seat of honor in front of the fan.