Murder at the Courthouse (7 page)

Betty Jean looked up from her newspaper when Michael came through the door and nodded toward his desk. “Hank got the paper out early this morning, so I bought you a copy. It's in the
Eagleton News
too, but just one paragraph, no pictures.”

Michael unfolded the
Hidden Springs Gazette
and the black headline jumped out at him. B
ODY
F
OUND
ON
C
OURTHOUSE
S
TEPS
.

Betty Jean put her copy down long enough to get a cup of coffee. “The picture of you is nice.” She peered at the paper as she sat back down. “Thank goodness I came back inside before Hank pointed that camera at me. I look like a cow in pictures.” Betty Jean took a sip of coffee. “But you look good. The way an officer of the law should look. Concerned, serious, in control.”

Michael scanned the pictures on the front page. The biggest one was of the body being loaded into the hearse. Hank would get complaints about that. A hometown weekly paper was supposed to be different from the big-town dailies that
might print that kind of thing. Then again, maybe this would be different since nobody knew the deceased.

At the bottom of the page were a couple of smaller pictures. One showed Paul Osgood talking to Miss Willadean, and another caught Michael standing by the bloodstained post after the body had been taken away. The bloodstains looked like smudges of ink on the paper. The caption under the picture identified Michael as the first law officer on the scene. Michael studied his own face in the picture and tried to see the in-control look Betty Jean said he had, but all he could see was a baffled expression.

He looked up from the paper. “Any new developments this morning? No new bodies on the steps?”

“Nope. I peeked out there when I got here to be sure. Felt silly doing it, but I did it anyway.”

“You probably weren't the only one who looked.” Michael smiled a little, remembering his own urge to check out front. “Anything else?”

“Nothing except Paul Osgood called a few minutes ago. Something about being sick. I don't know. I never talk to him any longer than I have to.”

“Paul's not that bad,” Michael said.

“You talk to him then.” Betty Jean turned back to her paper and coffee. “Boy, I sure could use a doughnut this morning.”

“Go up to the Grill and get one. I'll watch the office till you get back,” Michael offered innocently, as if he didn't know Betty Jean was on one of her periodic diets, this time a little more seriously than usual because she was sure that the new teacher at the middle school would ask her out if only she were a little slimmer.

Betty Jean glared at him. “Go soak your head in a bucket.
Or better yet, call Paul Osgood up and find out his marching orders for you today.” When she flipped open the newspaper, it crackled loudly. Then as quickly as she'd snapped at him, she was laughing. “Wait till you see the picture Hank put in here of Paul and Buck going at it. Sheriff Potter's got a hand on each guy's arm, and it looks like he's barely preventing the second homicide of the day.”

“Hank likes to stir things up. I don't even want to read what he quotes us as saying. Worst thing about it, we probably said every word.” Michael skimmed the article, glad he spotted his name only a couple of times.

“Oh, it's not too bad. He just keeps harping on how nobody knows who, what, or why about any of it.”

“Truth in journalism.” Michael turned over to the back page. “Great picture of Lester patrolling the police lines.”

“I saw it. We won't be able to live with him,” Betty Jean said.

“It'll make his day for sure.” Michael put the paper down. “Any other calls?”

“Just Miss Willadean. She wants to know if it's safe for her to come to the courthouse.”

“What did you tell her?”

“What do you think? That the brave and mighty Deputy Sheriff Keane would be in soon, and she had absolutely nothing to fear.” Betty Jean lowered her paper and looked across at him, her eyes suddenly serious. “You don't think she does, do you?”

“Of course not,” Michael said quickly. “It's probably the way Buck says. Some kind of domestic quarrel that just happened to come to a head here in Hidden Springs.”

“On the courthouse steps?”

“Maybe the wife decided on a more final separation. Who knows?”

“Not you obviously.” Betty Jean turned her attention back to her paper.

Michael looked at his watch. It was almost nine. “Did Miss Willadean buy it? Is she coming?”

“I guess we'll know in a few minutes,” Betty Jean answered without looking up.

Michael picked up the phone and pressed the speed-dial button for the city police station. Chief Sibley said Paul had some kind of stomach bug and wasn't able to come in to work. But if Michael had anything to report, he could call Paul at home.

“He said not to worry about catching him at a bad time, if you know what I mean.” The chief laughed a little. “He'll have his phone with him in the john. You have his number, don't you?”

“I do.” Just because he had the number didn't mean he'd use it, but no need telling the chief that. “Did Paul get an ID on the guy?”

“Not yet,” the chief said slowly. “Look, Michael, I don't know how long Paul's going to be, well, out of commission, so why don't you just run things out of the sheriff's office there till he gets back.”

“If you say so, Chief, but don't worry. We'll keep Paul posted. You heard anything from Buck this morning?”

“Buck isn't gonna be reporting in to Paul.” Chief Sibley snorted. “You know that. He has his own way of doing things.”

The Christian Church clock started chiming down the street as Michael put the phone down. Before two chimes sounded, Miss Willadean's heels clicked through the front door. Betty
Jean grinned over at Michael when Miss Willadean's yoo-hoo to Neville at the county clerk's office carried down the hall.

Then the little lady came on back to step into their office and glare at Michael. She had on a lavender suit with a deep purple pillbox hat that had to be fifty years old, perched a bit haphazardly on her tightly curled hair.

“Good morning, Miss Willadean,” Michael said. “Is everything all right today?”

“No indeed, it's not all right.” She pointed toward the front of the courthouse. “There are bloodstains on the post out front. It makes a person tremble to walk past it.”

“Yes, ma'am. I'll see if Roy can take care of that today.”

“I should think so. What about you?” She sniffed loudly and gave her head a little shake. Her hat slid to the side. “You do know a murderer is on the loose.”

“Yes, ma'am. We are aware of that.”

“Well, isn't it time you did something about it then?” She shoved her hat back in place, upsetting a few curls in the process. She turned her glare on Betty Jean. “Where is Sheriff Potter anyway?”

“He'll be in soon, Miss Willadean. Did you think of something else to tell him about what happened?” Betty Jean picked up a pen as though ready to take notes. Michael was impressed that she kept a smile off her face.

“I have something to tell him all right. We elected him to keep the citizens of this county safe and not let people get shot on the courthouse steps.” She slid a purple-flowered handkerchief out of her pocket and touched her eyes. “Oh dear, I could hardly sleep last night thinking about that poor man.”

She was still sniffling when Lester came in from his crossing guard duty and pushed in front of her to get to the supply
cabinet. “Excuse me, Miss Willadean. I need to get some parking tickets.”

“We don't write parking tickets, Lester,” Michael said. “The city police do that.”

“Well, I'm writing this one.” Lester kept digging around in the cabinet until he came up with a ticket book. “That car's been there too long. And it's not even a local car.”

While Lester lacked a little in a lot of departments, he did know his cars. He kept up with what the townsfolk drove from stopping and waving them past at the school crossing.

“What car?” Michael silently berated himself for not checking out the parking lot already. What did he think? The man had dropped out of the sky?

“A Buick. Blue. The big model,” Lester said. “License number CDF-149.”

“You're right, Lester. Go on out and ticket it.” After Lester hurried back outside, Michael went around his desk to put an arm around Miss Willadean's shoulders. “Now, Miss Willadean, I know how upset you are and with reason. But as you said, it's time we got busy keeping the streets of Hidden Springs safe.”

She blustered a little but allowed him to usher her out of the office. He watched her go up the hall, where she stopped to wave her hankie at poor Neville. Back in the office, Betty Jean ran the license plate number. It took only a few minutes to find out the car was registered to a Jay Rayburn of West Chester up in the northern part of the state.

Out at the parking lot, Lester was sticking the ticket under one of the windshield wipers when Michael got there. The paper flapped a little in the breeze, a useless piece of paper. Nobody would ever collect this ticket.

Michael tried the door and found it unlocked. Not only that, but the keys were pitched onto the floorboard. Obviously, the driver hadn't been worried about crime in Hidden Springs. A fatal error on his part. The car smelled of fast-food fries and coffee. A few shirts and pants hung on a rack across the backseat and a duffel bag held underwear, socks, and a shaving kit. A pair of brown shoes were on the back floorboard. Several bundles of rubber-banded slick brochures with pictures of office printers on the front were stacked in the passenger-side front seat.

The console had a supply of napkins, a couple of ink pens, and some CDs. Country music. No phone. If the man had a phone, and surely he did, the murderer must have taken it.

Michael ran his hand under the seat and touched the wallet he hadn't dared hope to find. He opened it and the dead man stared up at him from the driver's license, but there was no surprise on his face in this picture. Just an ordinary guy with a smile.

After that, everything was almost too easy, and before noon, Michael knew not only who the victim was but a little something about him, even if he still didn't know why he ended up dead on the courthouse steps.

Jay Rayburn was a printer salesman and technician for TEKCO, a company based in Louisville. When Michael called the number on the back of the brochures in Rayburn's car, the man's supervisor made all the expected sounds of surprise, but he couldn't really help Michael with much information. The supervisor had been with the company only a few months and hadn't actually talked to Rayburn face-to-face but twice. Rayburn was on the road most of the time. However, he could connect Michael with a secretary, Lisa Williams, who'd started with TEKCO about the same time as Jay Rayburn, some twenty years ago. He put Michael on hold while he broke the news about Jay's death to the woman.

At first the secretary was so shocked she only managed to squeak out the words that it couldn't possibly be true. But after a few minutes, she regained enough composure to answer Michael's questions.

The next of kin was a daughter, Amy. Lisa Williams said the girl was married to a man named Cartwright, just like on that old television show
Bonanza
. That's why she could remember the name. Jay himself was divorced. For ten years at least. Maybe longer. She couldn't say for sure. Time went by so fast. His ex-wife had remarried after their divorce. Her name was Alice. Alice Hancock . . . Hansford. Something like that.

The secretary didn't have any idea where the ex-wife lived now. Jay had an apartment in West Chester, but he wasn't there much. Always on the road. The daughter got married a few years ago, and Lisa Williams was pretty sure she lived in Cincinnati. There was also a son, Jimmy. The last time Jay mentioned him, the boy was out in California. Lisa Williams didn't think Jay heard from him very often since he didn't talk about him much.

No, as far as she knew, Jay hadn't been in a relationship with anybody. Of course, he was on the road practically all the time, but if he had a girlfriend, she didn't know about it. She laughed when Michael asked if there was any kind of romantic entanglement between her and Rayburn. She let Michael know she'd been happily married for thirty-five years. Her laugh was clean and honest, with nothing hidden behind it.

The laugh cut off abruptly as the woman remembered Jay Rayburn was dead. No, the company didn't supply cell phones for their people. Part of their cost-cutting efforts. But yes, Jay did have one. She could give Michael the number. She thought it was the kind you bought with airtime loaded on it instead of one with a contract.

When Michael asked if that was because the man didn't
have good credit, her voice became a shade cooler as she admitted that might have been the case. In the last few weeks, a few creditors had called the office in an attempt to track Jay down, but she was sure it was nothing major. Some shaky investments probably. Jay was always talking about someday striking it rich, but she figured that meant he was playing the lottery in some of the states he went through.

No, she had no idea who would want to kill him, her voice sad again. Jay had been a nice guy, quick with a joke and a smile and always ready to admire a new picture of her kids or grandkids. He remembered their names too. He had a good head for details. He practically lived on the road, but he seemed to like it. Said it gave him a chance to make friends all over.

She didn't think their company had any clients in Hidden Springs, but she would be glad to email Michael a list of the companies they did business with in the Eagleton area. She could probably come up with most of the places Jay had stopped last week, but Jay kept his own schedule. So she might miss some. When Michael said he didn't find an appointment book in the car, Lisa Williams said Jay used a phone app for that. He wasn't the greatest with paperwork, but he got the job done. That was good enough for his bosses. Jay was one of their best technicians.

Of course she'd be more than willing to answer any other questions Michael might have later on. She took down his number in case she thought of something that might be of help. It was bad enough when somebody was killed in a car wreck or something like that, Lisa Williams said, but to think about somebody you know being murdered, well, that was just too hard to believe.

Michael set Betty Jean to tracking down an address for the daughter before he called Chief Sibley to tell him they had an ID.

“I'll let Paul know when he gets to feeling better. I talked to Caroline awhile ago,” the chief said. “She says Paul's suffering something awful. Thinks it might be food poisoning, and if he doesn't get better soon, she's going to make him go to the emergency room over in Eagleton.”

Michael made some all-purpose sympathetic noises and tried not to be glad Paul was sick. But the truth was, he hadn't looked forward to playing follow the leader in this investigation with Paul Osgood, the leader. Aunt Lindy was right. The man couldn't catch a Peeping Tom.

After he told the chief goodbye, Michael stared at the phone and wondered if he should try Buck Garrett's cell number again. Surely Buck wasn't sick too, but sick or not, he wasn't bothering to check in.

Michael didn't like the feeling he was withholding information from Buck about the investigation. Besides, he wanted to hear what Buck had to say about it all. Nobody ever wondered if Buck knew what he was doing. He was every inch a law officer and good at his job.

Buck's eyes had taken on a special gleam the day before when they were talking about the murder. It was almost as if Buck considered the homicide some kind of challenge to see which man found the answer first. Michael smiled. Buck wouldn't be happy when he found out Michael—better yet, Lester Stucker—had come up with the first real breakthrough.

Michael's smile widened. Since Buck wasn't answering his cell, he'd send Lester out to the cluster of motels, gas
stations, and restaurants around the interstate exit to see if he could find him. Lester had a few hours before his crossing guard duty that afternoon. Buck wouldn't be happy to be chased down by Lester, but it would serve him right for not keeping in contact.

At her desk, Betty Jean scrolled through pages on her computer. She was a wizard at tracking down information and had a way of finding out more than he even knew to ask.

He looked over her shoulder. “How long before you have something?”

She frowned up at him. “This kind of thing takes time. You can't expect to find what you need without having to search a little. Now quit watching over my shoulder. You know I hate that.”

“Right.” Michael nodded. “Then I'll be at Joe's. I'm going to get a haircut.”

“Didn't you just get a haircut last Monday?” Before he could answer, a new screen flipped up on her computer and she waved Michael out the door.

When he passed the judge's office, Judge Campbell hurried out to walk with him toward the front door. “Alvin tells me you got a name on the poor soul who was shot out front yesterday,” the judge boomed. If anybody in the courthouse hadn't heard the news, they knew it now.

“Thanks to Lester. He spotted his car in the parking lot.”

“Was there anything in the car?” the judge asked as they went outside. “I mean anything that might help you figure out who shot the man.”

“Nothing so far, Judge. But we're bound to come across some kind of lead sooner or later. Hidden Springs is a little
town. Somebody will have seen something.” Michael tried to sound confident. “We'll catch whoever did it.”

“I have no doubt at all you'll have the perpetrator in jail in no time flat.” Judge Campbell clapped him on the shoulder. “Of course, if this was the big city, we'd just think it was a street mugging that got out of hand. Could be this Rayburn fellow, that was his name, wasn't it?”

“Yes. Jay Rayburn.” There was no reason to keep that a secret.

“Well, then it could be this Rayburn fellow was even trying to rob somebody else when he got shot. He could have been asking for it.”

“Then where's the person who shot him?” Michael asked.

“I don't know. They might have run away. Scared maybe. It could have happened that way. Bad things don't just happen in the big towns, you know.”

Michael shook his head a little. “I don't think that's what happened, Judge. Rayburn had a regular job as a printer technician and salesman. I don't think he'd have been trying to rob anybody here in Hidden Springs.”

“Sometimes people aren't what they seem.” The judge's voice dropped to an almost normal volume. That only happened when he was the most serious. “He was here for some reason.”

“That's true. We just don't know what that reason was.”

When they reached the Main Street sidewalk, the judge put his hand on Michael's arm. “Come on up to the Grill with me and grab a sandwich. My treat.”

“Thanks anyway, Judge, but I'm going to see if Joe is busy. Thought I'd get a trim.”

“I don't think he's there.” The judge glanced across the
street at Joe's Barbershop and then looked at Michael. “Besides, your hair looks fine. Plenty short.”

“Oh, you know how it is. I've got a big date coming up and I want to look nice.” Michael ran his hand through his hair.

“With that sweet little Karen Allison, I guess.” The judge was smiling again. “When are the two of you going to quit this pussyfooting around and tie the knot?”

Michael smiled back at him. “I don't think we're ready for that.”

“What are you waiting for? Lightning to strike?” The judge chuckled. “That's the way it always was with Malinda. There was a time, you know, when I had my cap set for her. But she said she had to have fireworks and I guess I never got her fuse lit.”

“Really?” The idea of a long-ago romance between the judge and Aunt Lindy was something Michael had never considered.

The judge's smile stayed firmly in place. “I expect it's just as well. I'm not so sure Malinda would have made a very good politician's wife. Too ready to speak her mind.”

“She does say what she thinks. But here in Hidden Springs, everybody might have voted for you because they would be afraid to go against her.”

“That could be.” The judge laughed easily. “But between you and me, and I wouldn't want this to get out yet, there's a good chance the party is going to ask me to run for state representative next term. You know Representative O'Neal is retiring.”

“Well, that's great, Judge. You've got my vote.”

The judge slapped Michael on the back. “I appreciate that, Mike, but remember mum's the word. And it might not be a good idea to mention what I said about Malinda to her
either. Things with me and Malinda never really got much past the ‘wondering if it might be a good idea' stage, if you know what I mean. And what with her and June being such good friends, we wouldn't want to muddy the waters at this late date, now would we?”

“Not me.” Michael barely kept from smiling. He couldn't imagine the judge's wife being jealous of Aunt Lindy, but if the judge wanted to believe that might be possible, then he wouldn't spoil his fun.

The judge clapped him on the back again and went on up the street. Michael headed toward Joe's shop. The judge was right. Joe wasn't there. The blinds were shut, and a note was stuck to the door.

“Gone to visit my sister.”

The note bothered Michael. Joe didn't often take a day off, and when he did, everybody in town knew all the details of where he was going and how long he'd be gone days before he left. But Joe hadn't said a thing about going out of town yesterday when Michael had been in his shop.

Michael went into Reece Sheridan's office beside the barbershop. From the way unopened mail was piled on the secretary's desk, it looked as if Janelle's little boy must still be sick. Michael went on back to Reece's office, where the lawyer was dozing in his chair with Two Bits curled in his lap. Michael rapped lightly on the door facing.

Reece opened his eyes, almost as though he'd just had them closed in deep thought rather than being asleep. “Michael, I'm afraid you caught me napping.” He grinned sheepishly. “I miss Janelle out front. She wears those clickety high heels that always wake me up before she gets back to my office to tell me somebody's here.”

Michael laughed. “Guess I should have stomped a little coming down the hall. I was coming over to get a haircut, but I see Joe's closed shop and left you holding the cat.”

Reece stroked the sleeping cat lightly. “Joe's gone to see his sister, Elizabeth. The one down in Tennessee.”

“Sort of a sudden trip, wasn't it? I mean, for Joe.”

“She's been sick, and he said he got word she was some worse. Said he had to go check on her. Asked me to watch Two Bits for a few days. Joe told me to just leave him in the barbershop, but I didn't want the poor thing to get lonesome over there all by himself. So I brought him over here for the day.”

“He looks content enough.”

“Just like me, eh?” Reece laughed a little. Folks in Hidden Springs had been bringing their problems to Reece Sheridan for more than forty years, and in all that time, Michael doubted he'd made even one enemy. The worst anybody could say about him was that he kept his best fishing spots secret.

“You said it. Not me.”

Reece's laugh settled in the deep creases around his eyes to let his smile linger on his face. “Alex would say too content. Did I tell you she's coming down for a visit this week?”

Alex Sheridan was Reece's niece. Until she went away to college, she'd spent at least a month every summer in Hidden Springs at Reece's house across the street from Michael. On those long summer days, the two of them had been practically inseparable, solemnly vowing one day to be friends forever and the next day vowing with considerably more heat to never speak to one another again.