Survivors Will Be Shot Again (10 page)

“They might be,” he said. “We'd better be ready for them in case they are.”

Andy drew his service weapon, a .38 revolver. Rhodes stopped walking, bent down, and got his Kel-Tec from its ankle holster. He'd taken a lot of heat for the ankle holster, but as the sheriff he had a lot of contact with citizens who might be spooked if he carried a handgun openly. Even in Texas there were a few people like that around. Not many, but a few, and Rhodes didn't want to scare them when he was talking to them about a case. The little pistol held seven 9 mm bullets, which Rhodes considered adequate for any situation he was likely to encounter. The only problem was getting to the pistol. He wouldn't have had to throw a loaf of bread at Rayford Loomis if he'd had the pistol in a handier spot.

As they approached the trees that marked the end of the pasture, Rhodes put a finger to his lips, and Andy nodded. Rhodes didn't know if the burglars were somewhere in the trees or if they were still running, but the best approach was to assume that they might be lurking nearby.

It wasn't easy for Rhodes and Andy to walk quietly once they entered the trees. Sticks and leaves lay all around, and Rhodes worried that any minute some feral hogs would break from cover and trample him. He'd had too much experience with the hogs to doubt the possibility. It was much darker among the trees than it had been in the pasture, but Rhodes didn't want to turn on the flashlights and warn the burglars they were coming.

After about five minutes of walking, Rhodes heard something ahead. He stopped and held up a hand. Andy didn't ask why. Both stood quietly, listening. Rhodes could make out talking, and he moved forward as quietly as he could. He stopped again when the voices became clear, and Andy stopped beside him.

“It's drugs, that's what it is,” someone said.

“Meth?” another voice asked.

“Maybe. Could be coke.”

“I didn't know old people snorted that stuff,” said a third voice.

Andy nudged Rhodes in the ribs with an elbow. Rhodes held up a hand and shook his head.

“Let's try it and see.”

“What if they come after us?”

Someone laughed. “They're too old to come after us.”

Someone didn't know Rex Lansen very well, Rhodes thought.

“I'll try it,” the first voice said. “Hand it here.”

Leaves rustled, and then Rhodes heard a couple of loud sniffs, followed immediately by a hacking and coughing fit.

“Come on,” he said to Andy, and he walked toward the coughing. Within twenty yards he came upon four young men sitting near a big tree trunk. One of them was struggling to recover from the coughing fit while a second pounded him on the back. They didn't notice Rhodes, but the other two did. They jumped up and started to run, darting among the tree trunks as agilely as squirrels.

“Go, Andy,” Rhodes said, and the deputy started after them while Rhodes watched the others.

“Having a problem?” Rhodes asked.

“Drugs got him,” the one who wasn't coughing said. “Call an ambulance.”

Rhodes saw a fancy metal urn lying on the ground beside what must have been Kathy Lansen's jewelry box.

“It's not drugs,” Rhodes said, worrying about his promise to bring back the ashes. “He'll be all right.”

“He's dying!”

“He's not dying.” Rhodes gestured with his pistol. “You stand up and put your hands on your head.”

The boy did as he was told, settling his hands on the fedora that sat squarely atop his head, but he wasn't happy about it. Maybe he was afraid he'd crush the hat. He was a skinny youngster who had a scraggly goatee and wore jeans and a T-shirt that said
HATERS GONNA HATE
on the front. The fedora reminded Rhodes of the one that Seepy Benton wore occasionally, but Benton had been wearing his for years, long before the current bunch of hipsters had appeared.

“Noah's gonna die and it's all your fault,” the boy said.

“I'm not the one who snorted ashes,” Rhodes said, looking at Noah, whose coughing had eased a bit. “You better stand up now, too, Noah. Hands on your head.”

Noah stood up. He was a bit shorter and heavier than his friend, and he didn't have a fedora or a goatee. He did have on jeans and a black T-shirt, but his shirt was devoid of slogans.

“I need to wipe my nose,” he said.

“Go ahead,” Rhodes told him. “One hand only.”

Noah wiped his nose. He didn't look more than fifteen, but that didn't mean much. As he got older, Rhodes had more and more trouble guessing people's ages.

Rhodes touched the badge holder on his belt with his left hand. “I'm Dan Rhodes, the sheriff of this county. What's your last name, Noah?”

Noah sneezed.

“It's Noah Newsome,” the other boy said, helping him out. “I'm Todd Rankin. What did you mean about snorting ashes?”

Rhodes pointed with the pistol. “You see that urn there?”

“What's an urn?”

Rhodes wondered if English teachers still gave vocabulary tests. “It's a kind of vase, usually one used to keep ashes in.”

“Why would anybody want to keep ashes?”

At least Todd was curious. Maybe that was a good sign.

“They're the ashes of a cremated relative,” Rhodes said. “In this case the ashes of Mrs. Lansen's father.”

Todd looked at Noah, who was sniffling, his eyes wide.

“Dude!” Todd said. “You sniffed some dead guy.”

Noah started to cough again. After a couple of heaves, he turned aside, bent over, and vomited. Todd jumped away from him.

“Don't go anywhere,” Rhodes said. “He'll be fine. Ashes aren't poison.”

“Yeah, but a dead person up your nose…”

Andy came walking back through the trees, alone.

“What happened?” Rhodes asked.

“They got away,” Andy said. “I got my feet tangled up in some kind of vine and tripped. By the time I got untangled, they were long gone.”

Todd smirked.

“That's okay,” Rhodes said. “Todd can tell us who they were.”

“I'm not a snitch,” Todd said, seemingly forgetting that he'd already told Rhodes Noah's last name.

“You will be when the sheriff gets you in the back room,” Andy said. He looked at Noah. “What's his problem?”

“Snorted ashes,” Rhodes said.

“Like Keith Richards?”

“Except these weren't Noah's own father's ashes,” Rhodes said.

“Who's Keith Richards?” Todd asked. “What back room?”

“Maybe I should just shoot him,” Andy said.

“Wouldn't be right,” Rhodes said, “but don't tell him who Keith Richards is.”

Noah straightened up again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn't look well.

Todd looked at Andy, who smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile.

“Names?” Andy asked.

“Bryan Stout and Nic Chambers,” Todd said without hesitation.

“We can pick them up later,” Rhodes said. “Right now we'll take these two to jail.”

“Jail?” Todd said.

“Graybar Hotel,” Andy said. “The Slammer. The Big House.”

“What's he talking about?” Todd said, looking at Rhodes.

“Your education is sadly lacking,” Andy said. “You'll have plenty of time to study in jail. Maybe you'll even find out who Keith Richards is. Put your hands behind your back.”

“What? Why?”

“Handcuffs,” Andy said.

“Handcuffs?”

“That's right. Handcuffs. Hands behind your back.”

Todd complied, looking distraught. Andy stepped behind him, holstered his .38, and secured Todd's hands with zip-tie cuffs.

“Your turn,” Andy told Noah.

Noah didn't speak. He just lowered his hands and put them behind his back.

When both boys had been cuffed, Rhodes said, “Better pat them down, Andy.”

“Right. They might be carrying sidearms or switchblades.”

They weren't carrying anything, however, and Andy looked a little disappointed when he reported it.

Rhodes pointed at the ground and said, “I see a jewelry box and an urn. What else did you two take from the house?”

“That's all we had time to grab,” Todd said. “Those old people came back and we just ran.”

“Good,” Rhodes said.

Andy picked up the urn and looked inside.

“Any ashes left?” Rhodes asked.

“Looks like most of 'em,” Andy said. “I doubt Ms. Lansen will know the difference.” He picked up the lid and replaced it. Then he got the jewelry box. “Unless somebody squeals.”

“We won't say anything,” Todd said. “Right, Noah?”

Noah nodded.

“If you took anything else and those other two ran off with it, we'll find out,” Rhodes said.

“I swear that's all we got,” Todd said.

“I hope so,” Rhodes said. “Let's go.”

He and Andy marched Todd and Noah out of the trees and back to the Lansen house. Todd and Noah walked awkwardly because it was hard for them to balance with their hands behind them. Rhodes didn't feel too sorry for them, however.

Rex Lansen was waiting in the backyard when they arrived. He took the urn and the jewelry box from Rhodes and thanked him.

“Kathy'll be glad to get these ashes,” Rex said. He stared at Todd and Noah, who looked away. “What about the others?”

“We'll get them,” Rhodes said. “We know who they are.”

“Good. I appreciate you getting these ashes back. Kathy would've grieved forever about 'em if you hadn't.”

Rhodes didn't mention that not quite all the ashes were there. Nobody else said anything, either. Rex went back into the house, and Rhodes put his hand on Todd's upper arm.

“I'll take this one in my car,” Rhodes told Andy. “You get the other one.”

“He doesn't smell too good,” Andy said.

“I know,” Rhodes said. “That's why I'm taking this one.”

Both boys looked quite unhappy, and Rhodes thought Todd might cry as he put him in the back of the Tahoe, first removing his hat. What the boys didn't know yet was that they wouldn't be spending any time in jail. Andy had been exaggerating for effect, hoping to give the boys a little scare. They'd be taken to the juvenile processing office, which was in the jail, all right, but which was really just a room for temporary detention. Not exactly a four-star hotel, but not nearly as bad as a cell.

Since they'd already admitted what they'd done and named their partners in crime, Rhodes didn't even have to interview them. They'd go to the jail and wait in the processing office until their parents showed up. Rhodes would release them into their parents' custody, and they might not even face charges if Rex felt lenient. Or even if he didn't. They were juveniles, and as far as Rhodes knew the burglary was a first offense. Still, going to the jail would be good for them. It wouldn't hurt them to be a little bit scared for a while.

Rhodes hadn't taken Todd in the Tahoe just because Noah smelled bad. Todd had been talkative, and Rhodes wanted to talk to him about the burglaries at Billy Bacon's place. It didn't seem likely that Todd and his friends were responsible. Neither Todd nor Noah was big enough to have been the person on the video. It could have been one of their friends, however, either Bryan Stout or Nic Chambers.

“What's your father's name, Todd?” Rhodes asked.

Todd was sunk back in the rear seat, his voice so weak that Rhodes could barely hear him.

“Ross,” Todd said. “Ross Rankin.”

Rhodes knew who Ross was. He had an air-conditioning business that was quite successful. It was hard not to make money with an air-conditioning business in Texas.

“What about Noah's father?” Rhodes asked.

“He's just Mr. Newsome. I don't know his name. He's a bookkeeper or something like that at the hospital. Are you going to call my parents?”

“Have to,” Rhodes said. “It's the law.”

“Damn,” Todd said.

“No bad language,” Rhodes told him.

Todd didn't respond.

“What about your friends? Bryan and Nic.”

“They're not my friends. They're Noah's friends. I barely know them.” Todd paused. “It was all their idea. Noah and I just went along with them. It's not fair that they got away.”

Rhodes figured this was just a bit of passing the blame, which was only to be expected. Everybody did it.

“They got away from you,” Todd said. “It's not fair.”

Rhodes didn't feel like getting into a discussion about the fairness of life. He was more interested in transportation.

“Did they have a car?” he asked.

“Yeah. We parked it around the curve past the Lansens' house. We came in through the woods.”

So they'd gotten back to the car. They'd be home by now, hoping that Todd and Noah wouldn't give them away but knowing better.

“They didn't get away,” Rhodes said. “We'll round them up. Are they older than you?”

“Yeah. They're both sixteen.”

More juveniles. Rhodes didn't think any of them would have been capable of stealing a welding rig, much less disposing of it.

“What else have they talked you into?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Todd said.

Rhodes didn't believe him. “Seems like you're familiar with drugs.”

“That was Noah who sniffed the ashes, not me. I don't know anything about drugs.”

“Right. And you're not a thief, either.”

“I'm not. I never did anything like this before, and neither did Noah. We should never have listened to Bryan. He's really the one who got us into it. He said it would be easy and we could get some money.”

“To buy drugs with?”

Todd didn't say anything for a while, so Rhodes just waited.

“Marijuana's not a drug,” Todd said after a while. “It's like a medicine.”

“Your state legislature wouldn't agree.”