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Authors: Bill Crider

A Mammoth Murder (21 page)

BOOK: A Mammoth Murder
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“If there's been a crime, we'll investigate,” Rhodes said. “That's what we always do. But we don't know that it's him, or even that there's been a crime committed.”
“Dental records,” Jennifer said.
Great, Rhodes thought.
I should have known someone would come up with it.
“That's right,” Vance said. “A good lab can compare the Bolton boy's dental records with the teeth in the skull we found here. That wouldn't take long at all.”
Rhodes could have said that Ronnie Bolton had never been to a dentist in his life, but he knew nobody would believe him, least of all Turley, who was swiveling his head to look from his Jeep to Rhodes as if trying to determine his chances of getting away.
“You said that you'd been looking for Bigfoot out here for years, Mr. Turley,” Jennifer said, seemingly unaware that he was becoming more and more jittery. “Were you here when Ronnie Bolton disappeared?”
That was it for Bud. He said, “I'm leaving. I gotta get to work.”
“You don't have to be in such a rush,” Jan said. “You know this area as well as anybody, and we'd like to talk to you about what might have happened here.”
“You can go with me, then,” Bud said.
He took hold of Jan's arm and started up the creek bank, dragging her along with him.
“What are you doing?” Jan said, slapping at Bud's arm. She might as well have been slapping a log for all the good it did. “Let go of me.”
Bud didn't let go. “You wanted to ask me questions, you can ask. Come on.”
“Hold on, Bud,” Rhodes said.
Bud stopped. He held Jan's arm with his left hand. With his right, he reached into his vest and brought out a 9mm Glock pistol.
“We're leaving now. She'll be fine. She can ask me her questions while I'm driving. I'll see you all later.”
Rhodes knew that Bud didn't have any intention of seeing them later. He might let Jan go, or he might not, but he wouldn't be hanging around Blacklin County. Not that he'd be able to get very far.
“This isn't Bonnie and Clyde days, Bud,” Rhodes said. “You'll be stopped before you get fifty miles. Why don't you let Jan go, and you and I will talk things over.”
“All right,” Bud said. He stopped moving up the bank. “Come on up here, and we'll talk.”
Rhodes didn't believe for a second that Bud was giving up that easily, but he didn't see that he had any choice other than to humor him. He walked a couple of steps, watching Bud warily.
But he wasn't wary enough. As soon as Rhodes got a little closer, Bud shoved Jan at him as hard as he could.
Rhodes didn't have time to brace himself. Jan stumbled into him, and he fell backward with her in his arms. They hit the ground and rolled down the bank.
They would have rolled all the way to the creek bed if Claudia hadn't gotten in the way. She jumped in front of them and dropped to her knees. She tumbled over when they collided with her, but she managed to stop their progress.
Rhodes untangled himself from Jan and stood up just in time to see Bud's Jeep pull into the county road, its wheels throwing gravel that banged against the Jeep's undercarriage.
Rhodes could hear everyone yelling behind him as he ran for the county car.
 
 
Bud had taken off in the direction his Jeep was pointed, so he was headed away from any populated area.
Rhodes got on the radio and told Hack what had happened. He told him to send Ruth Grady and to alert the Department of Public Safety and the sheriff of the next county. The car rocked from side to side on the rough gravel road.
Rhodes racked the radio just in time to see the Jeep's left front wheel hit a deep chuckhole in the road. It wouldn't have been so dangerous if Bud had been driving at the usual speed for an unpaved county road, around twenty or twenty-five, but Bud was doing at least seventy.
The Jeep bounced up and tilted dangerously to the right, but it didn't flip over. Instead it righted itself, then slewed off the road, plowed through the ditch, and went over the edge of the creek bank.
Rhodes stopped the county car, got his .38 from the ankle holster, and went to see what had happened to Bud.
By the time that Rhodes got to the creek, the Jeep was down at the bottom of the bank, nosed into the shallow water. Bud had already climbed the opposite bank, and Rhodes saw only his broad back as he disappeared into Big Woods.
RHODES HAD FOLLOWED ANOTHER MAN INTO THOSE TREES A FEW years ago. It hadn't turned out very well for either of them. Rhodes had wound up in the hospital, and he was the one who'd come out the better of the two. So he wasn't looking forward to going in there after somebody else.
On the other hand, he didn't see that he had much choice. He could have waited for Ruth Grady to show up, but she might not be there for another half hour, depending on where she'd been when Hack called her. Half an hour was too long. Rhodes couldn't afford to wait. Turley could get himself good and lost in that length of time.
If he didn't get lost, he'd have to leave the woods sooner or later, but there were so many places that he could get out that there would be no way to cover them all.
Or he might never get out. It would depend on his sense of direction. He might wander for days. Or if the feral hogs found him
and if they were in a bad mood, his wandering would end abruptly, and it would be too bad for Turley. Some of those hogs weighed three hundred pounds. Some of them had tusks as sharp as ice picks.
For just a little while Rhodes considered letting Turley get away. Maybe it would be for the best just to let him disappear, the way Ronnie Bolton had disappeared. He'd fade into the woods, never to be seen again, until someone hunting for Bigfoot, maybe Jeff and Charlie, stumbled across his bones.
Rhodes knew he couldn't let it go like that. His job was to do what he could to bring Bud back.
He trotted down the creek bank and up the other side. He ran a little faster as he crossed the weedy pasture to the trees, but he slowed down when he got to the woods. He was panting a little and sweating a lot. It was definitely time to cut back on the Blizzards.
Rhodes looked into the woods. A real woodsman would be able to track Turley without much trouble, Rhodes thought. Bud would be in a hurry, and he'd be careless. He'd break limbs, step on sticks, and generally leave an easily discernible trail for the trained eye.
Rhodes didn't have a trained eye, so he'd just have to do the best he could. He stuck his pistol in his belt at the small of his back, wishing he hadn't decided to try the ankle holster. It was just too inconvenient when you needed to get at your sidearm quickly.
As Rhodes moved into the trees, he hoped he'd hear Bud blundering along ahead of him. He didn't. He didn't hear much of anything. A locust started up, and then another. That was all.
He walked along, pushing branches out of his way. Some kind of green vine with sharp stickers grew low to the ground and
twined into the bushes. Occasionally it would hang on Rhodes's pant leg and pull at it.
The path that Bud had made was easy enough to follow even for someone who didn't have a trained eye, so Rhodes kept going. He hoped that Bud wouldn't try to ambush him. Rhodes didn't think he'd be able to prepare for an ambush.
He didn't think he'd be able to prepare for any feral hogs, either. He didn't see any signs of them, however, and he hoped they were all far away, lying in the shade and napping peacefully, waiting for late afternoon or night to start stirring around.
Rhodes didn't plan to be there when they started getting frisky.
It was a little cooler in the woods than it had been outside them because of the shade, even though there wasn't much of a breeze. The sunlight made crazy patterns on the ground and in the trees.
Rhodes ducked under a low limb and thought about snakes. He didn't like snakes. It might even be fair to say that he'd prefer never to see another snake as long as he lived. He decided not to think of snakes anymore.
Naturally he couldn't think of anything else.
Copperheads.
Rattlers.
Cottonmouths.
They were all pit vipers, they all had homes in Big Woods, and they were all dangerous.
Cottonmouths were aggressive. They wouldn't try to get away if they saw you. They'd attack. They stayed around water, though, and there wouldn't likely be many of them in the woods. They preferred swampy areas. There were a couple of those in Big Woods, but they were well away from where Rhodes was at the moment.
Rattlers, as far as Rhodes knew, weren't fond of water, and they weren't really aggressive. However, they were the most dangerous of the three because their bite was more likely to be fatal.
Copperheads weren't especially aggessive, either, but they weren't what anybody would call friendly. Rhodes knew they were the cause of more reported snakebites than any other species in Blacklin County. Still, while their bite was painful, it was seldom fatal.
So at least there's that much good news,
Rhodes thought.
On the other hand, both copperheads and rattlers would attack if they felt threatened and if their escape routes were cut off. Rhodes promised himself that he'd never cut off a snake's escape route.
As he made his way through the trees and undergrowth, trying not to think about snakes, Rhodes was careful to glance up now and then. He didn't think that there were snakes dangling from every limb, but he'd once made the mistake of not thinking someone might climb a tree.
If Bud was agile enough, he could get up high among the leaves and hope that Rhodes would walk right past him. If he was even more agile, he could wait until Rhodes got under him and jump down on top of him. But Rhodes didn't see anything to indicate that Bud had shinned up a tree. He'd just kept right on going, deeper into the woods.
Rhodes came to a place where the trees didn't grow as thickly together as they had. He looked ahead as far as he could see, but there were just more trees, which wasn't exactly a big surprise. There were miles of trees yet to go.
A stick cracked off to the right, and Rhodes dropped to one
knee, pulling his pistol out of his belt as he did. He waited, but no more sound came. Then a mockingbird fussed above him, and Rhodes stood back up.
He walked in the direction from which the noise had come and found that Bud had gone that way. About thirty yards away were three very large black walnut trees. Someone handy at woodworking would probably like to have those trees, Rhodes thought. They'd make some nice furniture. Right now, they might be providing a hiding place for Bud Turley.
“Hey, Bud,” Rhodes said. “I'm ready to call this whole thing off if you are. We can go on back to my car and drive to town. I'll send a wrecker for your Jeep. We'll get us a drink of water.”
Bud, if he was hiding behind the trees, didn't answer. Maybe he wasn't thirsty, but Rhodes was.
Rhodes started to circle around, keeping his eyes on the three big trees. It wasn't easy because the other trees grew so close together and because he was trying to be quiet. He wasn't succeeding very well.
After he'd taken a few steps, he thought he saw something move behind one of the trees. It had to be Bud. There was nothing else that big, except for the hogs, and the hogs weren't as tall as Bud. At least Rhodes hoped they weren't.
Rhodes stopped trying to be quiet. He said, “I see you back there, Bud. Why don't you come on out? You don't want to get bitten by a snake or gored by some wild hog. We can talk things over, and maybe it will all turn out all right.”
Rhodes didn't see how it could possibly turn out all right, not for Bud or anybody else, but Bud might not know that. It was Rhodes's opinion that a man who was guilty of murder or any
other crime always wanted to believe that there was a way out, that some way, somehow, things weren't all his fault. Sometimes that was the only way to stay sane.
Assuming that Bud was sane might be a mistake. People had always thought he was strange. Maybe “strange” hadn't been the right word.
Bud, if indeed it was Bud behind the trees, didn't reply to Rhodes's comments, and while at least he hadn't started shooting, he hadn't indicated any willingness to surrender. Rhodes thought that it might be time to try a different tactic.
Unfortunately, he didn't have a different tactic in mind. He stuck the pistol in his belt again and sat down with his back to an elm tree that didn't quite hide him. He had to sit in an uncomfortable position because of the pistol, but he didn't want to put it back in the holster.
From where he sat, Rhodes could see the walnut trees, or at least parts of them. He'd just wait for Bud to make his move.
Bud didn't make his move, not even after Rhodes had waited for a full ten minutes. To Rhodes, it seemed more like an hour or two. He was getting bored, and he was getting worried about Ruth Grady. She'd find his car, and she'd see Turley's Jeep in the creek. Then she might come into the woods. Rhodes didn't know what kind of tracker she was, so he was afraid she might get lost. Worse, she might come upon Turley and scare him. Someone might get shot.
Scaring Turley, though—that wasn't a bad tactic. Rhodes wished he'd thought of it before. Now he just had to figure out a way to do it.
He scanned the area again. There was a thick growth of bushes of some kind not far from where Bud was hiding behind the trees.
If it was Bud, and if he was hiding. Rhodes was no longer sure. Bud might have crept away, though Rhodes thought he'd have noticed a movement had that happened. He wondered if Bud had gone to sleep, though that didn't seem likely. Bud had hardly been relaxed enough for that.
A dead branch lay on the ground not far from where Rhodes sat. It was about two feet long and as thick as Rhodes's arm. He crawled over to it and picked it up.
It wasn't very heavy, but it would do. He continued crawling, keeping an eye on the walnut trees and trying to get close to the bushes that he'd noticed, but not so close that Bud would see him.
When he'd gotten as near the bushes as he thought was wise under the circumstances, he glanced toward the walnut trees to see if he could spot Bud. He saw something, or someone, but he couldn't be sure if it was Bud because of the intervening trees.
Now that he was ready to try it, Rhodes's idea didn't seem likely to work. Since it was the only idea he had, however, he thought he might as well go through with it.
Holding the dead limb in his left hand, he drew his pistol. Then he jumped up and threw the limb into the bushes. At the same time, he started kicking his feet at the leaves and small branches on the ground, snuffling and grunting as much like a feral hog as he could.
Rhodes felt ridiculous, but he had to carry it through. He stopped snuffling and yelled, “Look out, Bud! It's the hogs! They're headed in your direction!”
Bud had been behind the walnut trees, all right. He jumped up from behind the one where he'd been crouched and looked wildly about, but he couldn't see any hogs, mainly because there weren't any.
Rhodes fired a shot into the air. “Run, Bud!” he shouted. “They're right behind you.”
Bud started to run, but for some reason, maybe because Rhodes didn't sound anything at all like a real hog, or maybe because he had an inborn distrust of lawmen, he stopped. He turned around and started firing his pistol in Rhodes's general direction.
Rhodes dropped to the ground and fired back. He aimed high, over Turley's head. He didn't want to kill Bud, even by accident.
Turley, however, didn't seem to care in the least if he killed Rhodes, and he was doing his best to accomplish it. He ran toward him, firing off shots from the Glock. Bullets buzzed through the leaves and knocked off small limbs. One bullet tore a chunk out of the ground near Rhodes's left leg and spattered his pants with dirt.
Rhodes aimed lower, toward the ground in front of Turley, hoping to trip him up. He hit the toe of Turley's left hiking boot, and Bud fell forward. He hit the ground and slid on his face. His pistol left his hand and slid in front of him, right into the bushes.
Rhodes got up as Bud scooted forward, trying to reach the pistol. He stuck his hand into the bushes and felt around. Then he screamed.
When he pulled his hand back, Rhodes saw that there was a thick snake hanging from it. The snake—it had to be a copperhead, Rhodes thought, judging from the distinctive brown banding—was nearly a yard long.
Turley jumped to his feet and whirled around, trying to throw the snake off his hand, but it had sunk its fangs into the web between his thumb and index finger, and it wasn't letting go.
Bud was yelling, but Rhodes couldn't understand what he was saying, if indeed he was saying anything.
“Hold still,” Rhodes said. “Don't move around so much.”
He was sure Turley didn't even hear him. Blood came from the hiking boot, but Bud probably wasn't aware of that, either.
“Bud!” Rhodes yelled.
Bud stopped spinning. He looked at Rhodes.
“You,” he said, but that was all he got out before he fainted.
BOOK: A Mammoth Murder
7.94Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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