Pernicious (43 page)

         
“Excuse me,” staring into the darkness. “Isn’t that a tad farfetched, even for Perry? Murder an officer’s spouse
and
frame the officer? She couldn’t possibly think she could get away with all that.”

         
“Ha! She knows how to execute the perfect murder, make it look like an accident. All but one of her victims were poor black men. You and I both know that no department in Arkansas is going to investigate an accident as a homicide when the victim is poor, black. That’s just the way it is, and she knows it.”

         
A long while the two sat there gently swinging back and forth, saying nothing, Sheriff Bledsoe sipping coffee, Tasha scratching mosquito bites.

         
“Well,” Sheriff Bledsoe said, getting to his feet, “I guess we better call it a night. I’ll show you and your son to a room. In the morning we’ll hit the ground running.”

         
He led her and Derrick, wide awake now, upstairs to a spare bedroom furnished with bunk beds and a black-and-white television on a small dresser. Derrick went straight for the television and turned it on. Tasha hopped up on the top bunk and continued scratching.

         
Hours later--it seemed like minutes to Tasha--there was a rap on the door.
      

         
“Detective?” Sheriff Bledsoe said.

         
“Do what?” Tasha answered.

         
“It’s time to go to work. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

         
She slid off the bed. Derrick was asleep on the floor. She picked him up and laid him on the bottom bunk. “I love you,” she whispered and kissed his forehead.

         
When she stepped downstairs, Sheriff Bledsoe, fully dressed and looking perky, was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. “Want a cup?”

         
Tasha shook her head. “Uh-uh. What time is it?”

         
“A quarter till four.”

         
“In the morning?”

         
“The early bird catches the worm. This is the best time to catch people off guard; they’re sleepy and disorientated.”

         
“Tell me about it.”

         
“One other thing, Detective. Uh, you’re not packing, are you?”

         
Tasha stared at him, befuddled. “Packing what?”

         
“A weapon.”

         
“No.”

         
“I would’ve slept better if I asked you that earlier. ”

         
Fifteen minutes later they were cruising through downtown Dawson. Tasha rested her head on the window and dozed off while Sheriff Bledsoe drove and sang along with Rascal Flatts. The paved road ended and the car yawed and pitched in large craters.
  

         
Sheriff Bledsoe stopped the car. “We’re here.”

         
Tasha sat up and looked around. An ebon milieu, save for a bug-infested porch light atop the door of a shotgun shack.

         
“Don’t forget your promise,” Sheriff Bledsoe said.

         
“Who lives here?”

         
“I got to thinking about what you said last night. What was Perry doing down here? And then it hit me.” He unscrewed a thermos and took a sip. “Nothing like fresh coffee in the morning.”

         
“Care to share it?” Tasha said. He handed her the thermos. Tasha shook her head. “What hit you last night?”

         
“My friend Jake considers himself a entrepreneur. His main source of income is bootleg liquor. The right price he’ll sell anything. Drugs, hot cars, porno flicks, you name it.”

         
“I’m sorry,” rubbing her eyes, “I’m not following you.”

         
“People come here to buy something. You can hang around for a little while. Eventually you’re expected to buy something, if it’s one can of beer.”

         
“You think Perry drove down here to buy a can of Coors?”

         
“No. I think she bought something. Let’s go find out what it was.”

         
Tasha followed Sheriff Bledsoe to the front door. He tapped on it with a long flashlight. “Police!”
 

         
The door opened and there stood a tall, emaciated man dressed only in boxer shorts. The man blinked at Tasha, at Sheriff Bledsoe.

         
“Something wrong, Sheriff?” he asked.

         
“Put some clothes on, Jake,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “There’s a lady present.”

         
Jake looked at Tasha and twisted his boxers so that the slit covered his hip. “What she want?”

         
“Get dressed, Jake!” Sheriff Bledsoe said.

         
Jake turned and disappeared inside.

         
Sheriff Bledsoe sat on the edge of the porch and swung his legs. “Make sure you ask him what she bought.”

         
Presently, Jake stepped out wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a T-shirt. “If this ‘bout that fine, ah gonna pay it Tuesday after next. You can ask the white woman at the courthouse. She gave me an extension.”

         
Sheriff Bledsoe started whistling.

         
“Ah ain’t lying!” Jake said. “Ask the white woman, she’ll tell you.”

         
Sheriff Bledsoe said, “Jake, you’re going to answer this lady’s questions…all of them…truthfully. If not, we’ll determine when that fine is due…at the jail…tomorrow evening. Get my drift?”

         
Jake turned to Tasha. “What you want with me?”

         
“Last week,” Tasha said, “a woman came down here and pulled a gun on three men, do you remember that?”

         
“Yeah, ah remember,” Jake said, casting nervous glances at Sheriff Bledsoe balancing the flashlight in the palm of his hand. “Yeah, yeah, ah remember. What of it?”

         
“Did you observe the altercation?”

         
“Yeah--ah mean, no! Uh-uh. Ah didn’t see nothing!”
  
Sheriff Bledsoe took out his handcuffs and whirled them on a finger.

         
“Ah-ah was in the house, minding my own business. By the time ah looked out the window it was all over. Ah caught the ass-end of it; ah can’t tell you what happened.”

         
“You get a good look at the woman?”

         
“Nope. She wasn’t facing my direction.”

         
“When she drove off, the license plate, did you see it?”

         
“No, ah didn’t see nothing. Them other fellows say they saw everything. Why don’t you go ask them?”

         
“You know Burt and Doreen, don’t you?”

         
“Yeah, ah know em.”

         
“How long?”

         
“A long time. Ah don’t remember how long.”

         
“So you know Doreen’s daughter, Perry?”

         
He dug into his nose, retrieved something and flicked it. “Ah don’t much remember her. She stayed in the house most the time.”

         
“Wasn’t she the one you saw get into a Cadillac and drive away?”

         
“Nope. Didn’t see nothing. Not a damn thing!”

         
“What she come here for?”

         
“Ah don’t know! You need to ask her ‘bout that. People come here all the time. Ah don’t go askin’ em what they come here for. If they don’t bother me, ah don’t bother them.”

         
“What did you sell to her?” getting irritated.

         
“Ah didn’t sell her a goddamn thing!” Jake shouted. “Hell, the woman didn’t even come up to the damn house! Why you think ah sold her something? You got me four ways fucked up!”

         
“Watch your mouth,” Sheriff Bledsoe said.

         
“Let me get this straight,” Tasha said. “A woman pulls up in your yard, discharges a firearm, pistol-whips one of your patrons, and you manage to miss everything except the fact she has a butt. Is that what you’re telling me?”

         
“Yeah!”

         
“You’re lying!” raising her voice. “You know you’re lying!”

         
“No, ah ain’t. What reason ah have to lie?”

         
“Yes, you
are
lying.” Tasha scooped up Sheriff Bledsoe’s flashlight and approached Jake. “I’m going to ask you one last time. What did she buy from you?”

         
Jake backed up a step, his goiter rising and falling like a yo-yo. “Hey…hey, Sheriff, what’s wrong with this woman?”

         
Sheriff Bledsoe looked up at the stars and started whistling again.

         
“You better start talking!” getting into his face, the flashlight resting on her shoulder.

         
Jake backed up another step, the wall at his back. “Ah don’t know nothing! Ah didn’t sell nothing! Ah swear!”

         
“Sheriff Bledsoe, is he on parole or probation?”

         
“Yes, I do believe he is. Probation.”

         
“Well, well, well! That means if I find drugs or drug paraphernalia on the premises, Jake has revoked his probation.”

         
“Woman, what the hell you talking ‘bout? Ah don’t have no drugs! Sheriff Bledsoe, what the hell she talking ‘bout?”

         
Tasha crossed to the edge of the porch and picked up a three-legged school desk on the ground. She dragged it to the edge of the steps. “Sheriff Bledsoe, would you hold this for me?”

         
While Sheriff Bledsoe steadied the desk, Tasha stood on it and ran her hand along the gutter. “I feel something here…something plastic. What did you sell her, Jake?”

         
“Sheriff!” Jake wailed. “This shit wrong! You know it’s wrong!”

         
“Jake,” Tasha said, “who’s it going to be? You or her? I’m not standing up here holding this bag while you make up your mind. Why did she come here?”

         
“She came to buy a gun,” Jake said, barely audible.

         
Tasha jumped down and played the light directly into Jake’s face. “What did you say?”

         
“Ah said this shit wrong! Wrong than two fat homos!”

         
Sheriff Bledsoe scooted the desk to the center of the porch and directed Jake into it.