The Closing: A Whippoorwill Hollow novel (The Whippoorwill Hollow novels) (14 page)

Nate took Odoms home, found a telephone booth beside the Esso station, and called the Buck County sheriff’s office to report the discovery of Crawford’s corpse. A secretary told Nate Sheriff Feedlow would meet him at the quarry.

Nate returned to the quarry floor. He got out of his car, leaned against its fender, and waited. It was midafternoon. The heat was intense. Buzzards circled overhead and the odor of rancid garbage rose from Nate’s stained clothes. The stench of Crawford’s rotting cadaver and the sight of his bloated face haunted him.

He thought about Crawford’s murderer. The killer’s disposal of the body was reckless and foolish. Tossing the mattresses in the quarry made some sense; they were difficult to dispose of and the quarry was remote. He’d probably assumed it was unlikely anyone would search for them, and if someone did, the quarry was not an obvious place to look. But stuffing a corpse in a mattress and tossing it into the quarry was another matter. The stench of a dead corpse was unmistakable. Wild carrion birds would be drawn to it. The likelihood of discovery was much greater. Nate thought the killer must have panicked and made a foolish choice in haste. He was convinced that he was inexperienced.

Nate pondered the murderer’s motive. Crawford was in the warehouse at the time of Darlene Updike’s murder. Maybe he saw the killing and maybe his murderer was also Updike’s killer. But why would Updike’s murderer wait a year to kill Crawford? More likely, the murderer was part of the conspiracy to convict Deatherage. He’d attacked Nate to prevent him from finding out that the conspirators covered up Crawford’s presence in the warehouse the night of the murder and then had to kill Crawford to prevent him from identifying Nate’s attacker. Deputy Jones seemed a likely suspect.

Sunlight glanced off the windshield of a patrol car traveling the road cut into the quarry’s wall. The car reached the quarry floor, sped across the flats, and pulled up next to Nate. Buck County Sheriff Hubert Feedlow stepped out of the car. He was in his sixties, tall and slim with a pale complexion, a long narrow face, and close-set green eyes. His jaw ballooned with a chaw of tobacco. He wore a tan uniform and holstered a service revolver on his hip. He spat on the quarry floor and touched his hat. “Long time no see.” The sheriff squinted. “Ugly scar.”

“I was in a car accident.”

“So I heard tell.” The sheriff wrinkled his nose. “You smell like you ought to be bagged up and throwed away.”

“I climbed this pile of garbage. I got it all over me.”

The sheriff’s thin lips parted in a wry smile. “You’ll have to take your bath before Saturday this week.” He looked up at the mound of junk. “You picked a mighty hot day to climb this pile of trash. The dispatcher said you found a dead body.”

“The body’s up there on top, stuffed inside an old mattress.”

“What the hell’s it doin in a mattress?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s the body doin on top of the trash pile?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what the hell do you know?”

“I know the dead man was Henry Crawford.”

“Henry? Why would anybody kill Henry? Better yet, why would anybody stuff that poor sumbitch in a mattress and haul him way the hell out here?”

“I don’t know.”

The sheriff looked suspicious. “Why were you crawlin around in the trash on a day hot enough to boil your brains out?”

“I’m working on the Deatherage case.”

“What’s Henry got to do with Deatherage?”

“He was in the warehouse the night Darlene Updike was murdered.”

“First I heard of it. Who says so?”

Nate was caught unprepared by the question. He’d promised to conceal Odoms’ involvement. He hesitated. “Crawford told me he was there.”

“When did you talk with Henry?”

“Last week.”

“Where?”

“In the warehouse.”

“What else did Henry say about the murder?”

“Someone hit me and knocked me out before he could tell me anything.”

“News to me. How come you didn’t file a complaint with my office?”

“The injury wasn’t serious, and I was busy with the case.”

Feedlow looked skeptical. He spat tobacco juice and wiped his lip with the back of his hand. “Why did you come lookin for Henry at the quarry?”

“When I saw Crawford, he was lying on a pile of mattresses. The person who hit me removed them from the warehouse. I’ve been searching for Crawford and the mattresses ever since. I thought maybe the person who hit me hauled them to the county dump. I came here looking for them.”

“This ain’t the county dump. Who told you about the trash in the quarry?”

Nate hesitated again. “I don’t remember, but it seems to be common knowledge in the county. I guess I heard about it from someone when I was here last week.”

“You guess.” Feedlow’s wry smile returned. “A smart lawyer like you ought to be able to come up with a better story than that.”

“What do you mean?”

Feedlow squinted at Nate and then looked at the pile of trash. “Well, I sure as hell don’t want to climb that big heap of trash, especially on a day hotter than the fires of the devil’s homebase. I sent one of my deputies to fetch Mac Somers. We’ll wait for him. You can show him where Henry is. I’ll supervise from down here.”

Nate wasn’t surprised by Sheriff Feedlow’s lack of enthusiasm. Nate had served on statewide criminal task forces with him and knew him well. Buck County paid its sheriff the minimum required to fill the job, and in Hubert Feedlow, it got what it paid for. He did what he had to do to stay in the job and nothing more, but he wasn’t stupid. Buck County was filled with tough men. Throughout Feedlow’s thirty years as sheriff, rivals had accused him of negligence, others claimed he was corrupt, and a few had threatened violence against him. He’d fought off every challenge. He was a survivor: cunning and resourceful.

Another patrol car made its way down the wall and across the quarry floor to the trash pile. Two men stepped out of it, a short chubby man in civilian clothes and a young deputy sheriff. Nate recognized the deputy from Country Faire. He extended his hand to Nate. “Darby Jones, sir.” His grip was firm and he looked Nate straight in the eye.

The short chubby man was Malcolm Somers, the local medical examiner. Nate knew him from his days as a prosecutor. Somers was in his fifties and wore a seersucker suit, a string tie, and a straw hat. His face was drenched in sweat. He nodded to Nate. “Good to see you again. What have we got here?”

“A man’s been murdered,” Nate said. “His body was stuffed in a mattress and dumped on this trash pile. The body’s near the top.”

“How do you know the man was murdered?” Somers said.

“When you see him, you’ll know.”

“Hold your horses,” Feedlow said. “I don’t recall anybody electin you sheriff. Mac, you go up there and take a look. You think somebody murdered the poor sumbitch, I’ll declare this a crime scene and we’ll rope it off.”

“Who’s the victim?” Deputy Jones said.

“Henry Crawford,” Nate said.

Jones flinched. “Why in the world would someone kill Mister Crawford?” He seemed shocked and disturbed.

The sheriff said, “You go with Mac, Darby. See what you can find up there.”

Somers and Jones began climbing the mound of trash. On the difficult, awkward climb, Jones exhibited a pronounced weakness in his left leg. Twice he fell to his knee on that side and had difficulty returning to a standing position.

The sheriff and Nate stood next to one another at the foot of the mound of trash, watching Somers and Jones. The sheriff spat on the quarry floor. “I wouldn’t make much of what Henry said if I was you. Henry was drunk on rotgut most of the time. The rare times he was sober, he didn’t know who he was or where he was. If he was anywhere near the warehouse when the girl was murdered, which I doubt, he probably didn’t know what county he was in. You dirtied up your pretty clothes for nothin.”

Nate didn’t say anything. The sheriff kicked an empty paint can that lay at the bottom of the trash heap. The can rolled across the quarry floor, hit the tire of the sheriff’s patrol car, and came to rest. “You shouldn’t have come out here to this dump,” the sheriff said.

“What do you mean, Hubert?”

“You poke around in the wrong places in this county, you’ll be sorry you ever hooked up with Kenny Deatherage.”

“Is that a threat?”

The sheriff smiled and shook his head. “No threat. Just friendly advice. The rules are different in Buck County. It don’t pay to stir the pot here.”

“Who sets the rules in Buck County? You?”

The sheriff didn’t respond, but Nate was afraid to press him further. Somers and Jones picked their way down the slope. Just before they came into earshot, the sheriff said, “I’m not powerful enough to set the rules. From what I hear, you ain’t either. They tell me you tried to set the rules in Selk County, and it didn’t work out too good.” He looked at Nate’s scar and smiled.

Jones and Somers reached the quarry floor out of breath and covered with sweat. Somers took off his hat and mopped his face and neck with a handkerchief. “The man’s been murdered. Someone beat him to death. The killer made a clumsy mess. He cut the mattress open, crammed the body inside, and fastened the mattress lining together with a staple gun. The staples tore loose, and the dead man’s head broke free of the fabric.”

“Is it Crawford?” the sheriff said.

“I don’t know. His face is mutilated beyond recognition. I’ll notify Roanoke. We’ll need Shirley West to do an autopsy and investigate the murder.”

“It’s Mister Crawford,” Jones said. “I recognize his hair and beard.” Jones was pale. He went behind his patrol car and retched. He struggled there for a good while. He was clearly in distress, but given Jones’ combat record, Nate doubted the gore had sickened him. It seemed more likely he was upset by the cruelty of the killing. Up to that point Nate had thought Jones was the best suspect for Crawford’s murder. He had a motive to conceal the mattresses, and unlike the judge, he was physically capable of following Nate to the warehouse, attacking him, and hauling Crawford’s corpse to the quarry. But Jones’ reaction gave Nate pause.

The sheriff smirked. “Get hold of yourself, Darby. We got work to do.”

The sheriff left Deputy Jones in charge of the crime scene, and he and Nate returned to Bloxton and met in the sheriff’s office. The room was small and furnished with nothing but a desk and two chairs. The sheriff sat in his chair with his boots propped on the corner of his desk, spitting into a Styrofoam cup. Nate sat across from him. A rotating electric fan was perched on the desk, swinging back and forth slowly.

“You wanted to talk,” the sheriff said.

“Deatherage says he found Updike’s corpse sprawled on mattresses in the warehouse. I want Shirley West to investigate the ones I found at the dump to see if there’s evidence that Updike was murdered on them.”

“Deatherage is lyin about that, but you’ll get your wish. The mattresses are evidence in the investigation of Crawford’s murder. I told Mac and Darby to haul em to Mac’s lab. If Shirley finds somethin that connects em to Updike, we’ll let you know.”

“Thanks. I have another small request. Do you remember Eva Deatherage’s complaint about a robbery of her craft shop last summer?”

“I remember it. Never caught the thief.”

“I’d like to see the case file.”

“Why?”

“The robbery may be connected to Updike’s murder.”

“I can’t see how.”

“Eva is Deatherage’s mother. The robbery occurred around the time of the murder. Maybe there’s no connection, but I want to make sure.”

The sheriff shrugged. “I suppose it can’t hurt to let you have a peek at the file.” He sauntered lazily to his secretary’s desk just outside his office door. The secretary was a plump middle-aged red-faced brunette who looked as though she might faint from the heat. The sheriff spoke to her. She gave Nate an aggravated look, heaved herself out of her chair, padded on bare feet to a file cabinet standing against the far wall, retrieved a manila folder, and handed it to the sheriff. Feedlow walked back to his desk and gave the file to Nate.

Nate looked at it. There was one piece of paper, Eva’s complaint. “Is this all?”

“Never got a lead. There was nothin to put in the file.”

The original complaint in the file was identical to the carbon copy Eva gave Nate, except the original was dated June 1, two days before the murder. The carbon copy bore a date of June 12. Nate suspected the 2 had been removed from the original. He held the complaint up to the light, but he couldn’t detect any trace of the 2. “Could I have a Xerox copy of this?”

The sheriff took the complaint from Nate and held it up to the light. “There’s nothin on this form about your case.”

“I’d like a copy, just to be thorough.”

Feedlow smirked. “You’re a lawyer through and through, wastin my time and makin extra work for me and my people.”

“Where’s your copying machine? I’ll do it myself.”

“Twyla already hates your guts for makin her haul her carcass to the file cabinet in this heat. You screw up her copyin machine and we’ll have another murder case on our hands.” The sheriff took the form to the secretary and spoke to her again. She gave Nate a more severe scowl, waddled to a copying machine standing near the front door, and made the copy for Feedlow.

He returned and handed the copy to Nate, and Nate put the copy in his briefcase. “One last question,” Nate said. “At the quarry you said the rules are different in Buck County. What did you mean by that?”

The sheriff’s lips stretched into a tight smile. “I was just jawin to hear myself talk. Don’t make too much of it.”

“There’s one set of rules in Virginia. You can find them in the Virginia Code. If anyone in Buck County broke the law to convict Deatherage, there are no rules here that will protect you.”

Feedlow’s smile fell. “From what I hear, you ain’t qualified to warn others about breakin the laws.”

“You’re wrong about that. I’m especially qualified. I know better than anyone what it costs you.”

Feedlow nodded. “Well, then, thanks for the warnin, and here’s one for you. Don’t go anywhere till we figure out more about Crawford’s killin.”

A chill ran through Nate. “Why?”

“You’re a material witness. Don’t leave Buck County without my permission.”

“I planned to return to Jeetersburg tonight.”

“Change your plans.”

“You have no right to hold me here.”

“You can stay voluntarily or I can hold you for questionin. We got a nice soft bed for you back there in cell number one.”

“You have no grounds to hold me.”

The sheriff spat in the cup and wiped his lip. “You were a commonwealth’s attorney. Tell me what you think of these grounds. You said you talked to Henry last week. You said he disappeared last week. Mac said he’d been dead for about a week. You found the body in a place no one would normally look for it. You gave me a cock-and-bull story about why you looked for Henry at the quarry. The word is you broke a passel of laws in Selk County, you have a drinkin problem, and you have a hair-trigger temper that caused you to rough up your wife last fall. Henry was beat to death. What do you think? Do I have grounds to hold you?”

Nate searched Feedlow’s face for clues of his intentions. Was the sheriff part of a conspiracy in Buck County to frame men for murder? Was he moving Nate into the queue as the next target? The sheriff stared at Nate, his face blank, chewing his tobacco like a cow chewing cud. Bored, languid. “So what’ll it be, Nate?” he said. “The Black Gold Motel or cell number one?”

“I’ll stay in Buck County until tomorrow night. If you haven’t questioned me by then, I’m heading home.”

Nate left the sheriff’s office, drove down Ewell Street to the Coal Bin, and picked up Clarence. He filled Clarence in. Clarence was more than happy to remain “in the field.” At the Black Gold Motel, Clarence worried that he might lose effectiveness in gathering information if people in Buck County knew he worked for Nate, so he hid in the car while Nate checked in with Drinkard.

Room number three was a sweatbox that evening. Clarence sat on the bed and mopped his face with a bathroom towel. Nate sat in the room’s only chair. “What did you find out today?” he asked Clarence.

“The Grill was a disappointment. I sat at the counter with a farmer named Frank Gentry. I told him I was an undertaker from Wise County on my way back home from a funeral in Salem. We talked about recent deaths and funerals in Buck County, and I worked him around to Updike’s murder. At the mention of her name, he turned red as a tomato, paid his tab, and skedaddled. I moved down the counter and sat with a John Deere mechanic, Herman Doyle. We got around to Updike and I got the same result. He got skittish as a white-tail deer and scurried out the door.”

“Drinkard mentioned those two men. He said they spent nights with Darlene in a room at this motel.”

“That fits with what a lawyer named Daryl Garth told me.”

“When did you talk with Garth?”

“The luncheon trade was petering out at The Grill when Garth came in and sat next to me. Kind of a simpleton, this fellow Garth. He was in the middle of telling me gossip about the murder when he suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing, stopped in midsentence, and hopped out the door like a scared rabbit.”

“Garth represents one of the other death penalty defendants. What did he tell you before he fled?”

“He said the men in town were tight-lipped about Updike because some of them fooled around with her. He claimed the gossips say Gentry and Doyle both partied with her, and their wives would be none too pleased to find out about it. I asked Garth a couple questions about Deatherage. He started to say something about Swiller and the judge and that’s when he caught himself and ran off. He knows something, but he’s afraid to say it.”

“I should talk with him. I’ll call him and set up a meeting. Did you learn anything at the Coal Bin?”

“I hit the mother lode at that place. I used that same undertaker cover. A waitress named Tilly Garrison took the bait and ran with it. Nice little girl, this Tilly. Darlene spent a lot of time at that restaurant and Tilly got pretty friendly with her. Here’s the bombshell: Darlene stayed at Judge Herring’s house while she was in Bloxton.”

Nate took a moment to digest that fact and then said, “Did this Tilly know why Darlene stayed there?”

“Tilly asked, but Darlene wouldn’t tell her. Tilly was surprised by it. She said the judge was a well-known teetotaler and Darlene got fall-down drunk every night she was at the Coal Bin. Darlene told Tilly the judge pitched a fit and threw her out of the house whenever she came home drunk.”

“That fits with information I found here last week. Darlene rented a room in this motel seven different nights. Drinkard said she was always drunk when she checked in, but I don’t understand why the judge took Darlene into his home in the first place. I wonder if the Herrings are related to the Updikes. Did you do a background check on the Updikes?”

“Like I told you before, I did a court records check on Darlene and found that civil case her father filed. That’s all I’ve got on him.” Clarence held his wristwatch up to his eyes. “Seven thirty. All the agencies have shut down for the day. The best I can do is call from here first thing in the morning. We need to act fast. This case is getting dangerous. Who do you figure killed Crawford? Deputy Jones?”

“I don’t know. Jones seemed surprised and sickened by Crawford’s murder. His reaction to it was convincing.”

“Could the judge be the killer?”

“I don’t think the judge is physically capable of attacking me, killing Crawford, and hauling the corpse and the mattresses to the quarry. Maybe he directed someone else to do all that. I thought his henchman was Jones, but Jones’ reaction doesn’t fit. Nothing I’ve found tells me who else might have killed Crawford.”

“Well, one thing seems clear. Your boy Deatherage was framed.”

Nate nodded. “It looks like the judge, Swiller, and Jones worked together to ensure his conviction, and maybe Sheriff Feedlow and Mac Somers were working with them. Maybe even George, although everything I know about him says otherwise.” Nate was about to ask Clarence more about Updike’s local boyfriends, Doyle and Gentry, when there was a knock at the door.

Clarence said, “I better get out of sight.” He went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Nate opened the door. Deputy Jones stood in the doorway.

“Hello, Deputy.”

“Howdy, Mister Abbitt. Can I come in?”

Nate stepped aside and Jones walked in. “I have some questions about Mister Crawford.” Jones sat in the chair, took off his hat, and wiped sweat from its headband. Nate sat on the bed. “Mister Crawford’s body was in an awful state. The heat, you know. The maggots and such. Mister Somers said someone hit him across the eyes with some kind of big club.” Jones was watching Nate closely. Nate showed him nothing. “How did you come to find Mister Crawford’s body in the quarry, Mister Abbitt?”

“Deatherage told me he saw Updike’s body on mattresses in the warehouse. Someone removed the mattresses from the warehouse last week. I found them in the quarry, but I didn’t expect to find Crawford stuffed into one of them.”

“Deatherage is lying. There were some old mattresses in the warehouse the night of the murder, but they were at the back wall, nowhere near Miss Updike’s body. Why were you looking for them? What good would they do your case?”

“Some types of forensic evidence have a long life.”

“How did you know they were at the quarry?”

“I guessed.”

“Pretty good guess. What did you base it on?”

“Someone knocked me out in the warehouse last week when I found Crawford. When I came to, Crawford and the mattresses were gone. I figured the man who took the mattresses didn’t want me to look at them. I guessed he either destroyed or discarded them. The dump was a logical place to look.”

“That makes sense, but you didn’t go to the dump. You went to the Dealeton quarry. Who told you the locals dumped their trash there?”

“I don’t remember who told me about the quarry, but everybody in the county knows about it. I’ve talked to a lot of people here about the Deatherage case. One of them must have mentioned it.”

“Convenient you don’t recall who told you. That way I can’t check it out.”

Nate gave Jones a hard look.

Jones said, “Why didn’t you file a report with us about the assault on you in the warehouse?”

“I was busy, and the injury wasn’t serious.”

“It also prevented us from investigating your story. Who do you think hit you?”

“I don’t know.”

“It couldn’t have been Mister Crawford, I suppose.”

“Crawford was in front of me when I was hit. The man who hit me followed me into the warehouse and attacked me from behind.”

“And you have no idea who he was?”

“I have some ideas, but I’m not ready to share them.”

“Why not?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Jones frowned. “You’re not giving me much to work with, Mister Abbitt. You’d rather not say. You don’t remember. Maybe you can answer this question. How did you come to know Mister Crawford?”

“I didn’t know him. I went to the warehouse to look at the scene of the murder. Crawford was there, and I approached him.”

“And you talked to him?”

“The man who attacked me knocked me out before I could speak with Crawford.”

“You didn’t talk to Mister Crawford?”

“That’s right.”

“And you never met Mister Crawford except that one time?”

“That’s correct.”

Jones put his pad and pencil in his shirt pocket. “I guess that’s it for now.” He stood and put on his hat. “If you get around to deciding to share your ideas about who attacked you or if you start remembering things you don’t remember now, give us a call.” He stepped out the door and turned back to Nate. “I have one last question. How did you know the name of the dead man who was stuffed in the mattress at the dump?”

“What?”

“You said you only saw Mister Crawford the one time. You didn’t speak with him. So how did you know who he was? How did you know his name?”

A bead of sweat slid into the trench of Nate’s scar. It stung. “I didn’t mean to say I didn’t speak to him at all. I spoke to him for a few moments. He told me his name and then someone hit me over the head.”