Bill Crider - Dan Rhodes 20 - Compound Murder (23 page)

It wasn’t impossible. Loam encouraged her readers to send in photos and video, and occasionally she got some interesting things. The sheriff appearing on campus wouldn’t be among them, not as far as Rhodes was concerned, anyway.

Harris wasn’t in the classroom, though there were students already seated. Rhodes stood outside the door and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Harris came hurrying down the hall with a thick textbook and a couple of manila folders.

“I don’t have time to talk,” he told Rhodes when he reached the door. “I have a class to teach.”

“Your students won’t mind waiting,” Rhodes said. “They might even want to take video of us.”

“You can’t hold me out here against my will. I have an obligation.”

“You’re acting mighty funny for an innocent man,” Rhodes said.

“Look, I want to talk to you, too,” Harris said. “It will just have to wait until after this class. Come back in an hour, and I’ll meet you in my office. Will that satisfy you?”

“I’ll be there,” Rhodes said.

Harris nodded and went past Rhodes and into the room, pushing the door shut behind him. Rhodes stood and looked at the door for a while before walking back down the hall, down the stairs, and out of the building.

*   *   *

Rhodes drove to the courthouse. It was where he always went when he needed a little time to think. Nobody ever bothered him there, except Jennifer Loam, and she didn’t have any reason to track him down today, as far as he knew.

The hallways were mostly deserted since the courts weren’t in session. He wished the barbershop chorus would come over and sing a couple of songs. The acoustics, with the granite floors and plaster walls and ceilings, would have made it a great place to practice. The people in the offices would appreciate the break, too.

Rhodes didn’t bother to stop at the soft drink machine. He’d decided to continue his boycott of his favorite drink, and he still wasn’t ready to change to something new. Maybe next week. Anyway, laying off the soft drinks had probably been good for him. He wasn’t consuming as much sugar, and that was supposed to be a good thing, wasn’t it?

He unlocked the office door and went inside. The room got a regular cleaning, but it always had an odd odor that Rhodes thought came from the fact that he hardly ever used the place. He considered opening a window to air it out, but it was cool in the office and hot outside. When it came right down to it, he preferred the cool stale air rather than the fresh outside air, a common failing among Texans in the summertime.

Sitting in his chair, Rhodes leaned back, ignoring the squeak, propped his feet on the desk, and thought things over. He’d seen a couple of examples in the last few days of people using their cell phones to take video. It was a common occurrence and had been for years, and Rhodes knew he’d overlooked something that should have been a standard part of his investigation. It wasn’t too late to do something about it, and while it might turn out not to have any bearing on things at all, he’d have to give it a try. It was the kind of thing he should’ve thought of earlier, and he felt bad about it.

He still couldn’t figure out Harold Harris, who didn’t act exactly like a man who was guilty of killing someone, accidentally or not. He looked like a man who was guilty of something, though. Rhodes was sure of that, and Duke Pearson believed it, too, with the problem being that neither of them could figure out just what it was that Harris might have done. The ten o’clock meeting with Harris might provide an answer to that.

Rhodes thought about calling Hack to check on things around town, but Hack would have been in touch if there’d been a problem, and Rhodes didn’t feel like dealing with him at the moment.

About ten minutes until nine, having reached hardly any conclusions, Rhodes got up and left. He didn’t feel that his time had been wasted, even if it might seem as if it had to someone else. He never knew when his ruminations would bring something to the surface.

He was eager to hear what Harris had to say, so he went down to the car and got on his way.

*   *   *

Harold Harris’s office was neat. No papers on the floor, no clutter on the desk, books neatly arranged on the shelves. The chair he had for students to use looked considerably more comfortable than those in Benton’s office, and Rhodes chose to sit in it rather than to loom. Harris already looked nervous enough.

“I just got through talking to my students about Achilles,” Harris said. Nervous or not, he was dressed again in what Rhodes thought was appropriate for a college instructor, with a blue blazer over his white shirt and patterned tie. “You know who Achilles is, of course.”

The way he said it irritated Rhodes a little, but he didn’t let it show. He said, “Sure. There was this thing about his heel. He was at Troy when the Greeks hid in the wooden horse. The thing about his heel isn’t in that story, though.”

Harris gave him an appraising look. “Indeed. Anyway, Achilles might have been an uncivilized ruffian by our standards, but he had something that a lot of us lack, a high sense of honor. He had that, and courage, too. He was a real hero, in a way a lot of our so-called heroes now aren’t.” Harris gave a weak grin. “Excepting Sage Barton, of course.”

Rhodes repressed a sigh. Was there anybody who didn’t read those books?

“As for me,” Harris continued, “I’ve recently demonstrated that I’m just about the opposite of Achilles. And Sage Barton, for that matter. My students would think I’m a fraud, standing up there and reciting the virtues of a hero when I’ve been a coward so recently. You could see through me at once, I’m sure.”

Rhodes decided that his best tactic would be to look inscrutable, which was easy enough for him to do, since he didn’t have any idea where Harris was going with all the stuff about Achilles and heroism. While Harris might have been about to confess to killing Wellington, he could just as well be ready to admit that he’d somehow managed to alter his standing on ProfessoRater.

Harris waited for Rhodes to say something. When he didn’t, Harris kept going. Rhodes felt clever for keeping his mouth shut.

“You knew I was lying about being in the lounge when Wellington was killed,” Harris said, “and I wouldn’t blame you if you thought I’d had something to do with it. That’s not true, however. I’m completely innocent in that matter.”

“If you’re innocent,” Rhodes said, “then what are we talking about here?”

Harris looked miserable, but he still didn’t give the specific example Rhodes was looking for.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” Harris said, without saying what
it
was. “I know it was wrong, but I can’t change that now. All I can do is admit it.”

He looked at Rhodes as if asking for something. Rhodes didn’t know what it was. Understanding or forgiveness maybe.

“I don’t know anybody who’s never done something he wished he could do over,” Rhodes said. “We don’t get do-overs, though, so we just have to muddle through. I’ve heard plenty of stories people didn’t want to tell me, but they eventually realized they had to. You might as well tell me yours.”

“I’m embarrassed about it,” Harris said, “and I’m ashamed of myself.”

“If it’s about ProfessoRater, you don’t have anything to worry about. Not from me, anyway. That’s college business, not mine. I don’t care about it at all, not unless it caused you and Wellington to get into an argument that left him lying out by the trash bin.”

Harris sat up a little straighter. “How did you know about the ProfessoRater?”

“Just doing my job,” Rhodes said. “I try to find out all I can about the people involved in a case I’m working on.”

Harris squirmed a little in his chair. “I … don’t want to talk about that. That’s between me and the dean. It’s over and done with. Everything’s settled, and it has absolutely nothing to do with you or with Wellington.”

“He knew about it,” Rhodes said.

“Knew what? I said I’m not going to talk about that. The dean and I have reached an agreement. It’s a dead issue.”

Rhodes was frustrated, and it showed. “If that’s not what we’re here for, you’d better get to the point.”

“All right. I’m sorry for going all the way around Robin Hood’s barn to get to the point. This isn’t easy for me.” Harris paused and took a deep breath. “I was a little late day before yesterday, and I was hurrying across the parking lot to get to the lounge and have some coffee before class. I happened to glance over at the Dumpster, and I saw Wellington lying there. I went over to see if I could help, thinking maybe that he’d fainted or something like that, but when I got to him, it was obvious he was dead. I saw the blood and I panicked.” Harris paused and rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I ran back to my car and sat behind the wheel. I was hyperventilating. After I got myself under control, I went home.” Another weak grin. “Not like Sage Barton would have done. I didn’t get back in time for my class, not that anybody noticed. I’d hardly gotten back on campus before Dean King called me to see you. I’m sure you could tell how nervous I was. Hardly the kind of behavior that Sage Barton would approve of.”

“Let’s forget Sage Barton,” Rhodes said. “He has less to do with this than your ranking on ProfessoRater. Why didn’t you tell me all this to start with?”

“I know I should have,” Harris said. “It’s just led to even more trouble for me.”

“More trouble? How?”

“Someone thinks I saw more than I did, someone menacing. I got a call here in the office that afternoon. It was frightening, and it had an effect on me. I was scared. I admit it. I should’ve told you about it when you came by my house, but I didn’t.”

“Who called?” Rhodes asked.

Harris looked surprised that Rhodes would ask. “He didn’t give a name.”

“What did he say?”

“He said I’d better keep quiet. If I didn’t, I’d get the same thing that Wellington did.”

“Keep quiet about what?”

“That’s what I don’t know. I didn’t see anything or anybody. Well, that’s not entirely true. I saw a car leaving the parking lot as I came in, but I hardly glanced at it. I certainly don’t know who was driving or even what kind of car it was.”

Someone was giving Harris’s powers of observation far too much credit. Rhodes had dealt with countless people over the years, and their lack of attention to what went on around them no longer surprised him. He’d heard three or four people who witnessed the same event describe what had happened, and most of the time they might as well have been in different towns for all that their accounts agreed. It was no wonder that lawyers dreaded eyewitness testimony. It was the most unreliable evidence in the world.

“There’s some good news, however,” Harris said.

Rhodes didn’t see what that could be, but he said, “Tell me.”

“I preserved part of the conversation,” Harris said. “When I finally realized what the man was saying, I recorded the rest on the answering machine.”

Rhodes was amazed. He wouldn’t have thought that Harris would’ve had the presence of mind to do it. It might not help, but at least it was something.

“It’s not all good news,” Harris said. “The man was obviously disguising his voice.”

Rhodes was disappointed, but maybe he could get some kind of clue from the man’s phrasing.

“Let’s hear it,” he said.

“Let me see if I can find it,” Harris said.

He punched a couple of buttons on the phone, and Rhodes heard a man’s voice. It sounded as if the man had something stuffed in his mouth, so the voice was effectively disguised, all right.

There was just one problem. Not for Rhodes, but for the caller. Duffy could disguise his voice, but he couldn’t disguise his sniffles.

Duffy had been right about one thing. You never knew who might be recording your calls.

Chapter 21

Rhodes left the campus and went to the jail. He had things to do. While it was nice to have Duffy’s voice on Harris’s phone message, it didn’t prove anything. Rhodes wasn’t sure they could prove it was Duffy’s voice, even with the sniffles, and since no amount of prodding had gotten anything further out of Harris, Rhodes was stuck again. If all else failed, he could confront Duffy and Terrell with the phone message, but they’d just laugh.

Rhodes wasn’t sure about Terrell’s involvement. He remembered now that Duffy had told him, several times, that Terrell never left the compound, never even went outside the fence. Duffy, however, had never said that
he
didn’t leave the compound. Rhodes had gotten that impression, as Duffy had no doubt intended, but in thinking back over everything that had been said that day, Rhodes was sure Duffy hadn’t actually said it. Some people had a way of shading a thing like that to avoid being caught in a lie later on.

There was something Rhodes needed to do, something that might give him a clue as to why Duffy had fought with Wellington, if indeed he had. Duffy had been pretty worked up about the plagiarism problem, but Rhodes didn’t think that could have been what set him off. He’d helped Ike with his math, not his papers. It didn’t seem likely that he’d have been so involved in the matter that he’d have wanted to hurt Wellington because of it.

At any rate, Rhodes had plans for what to do with the rest of the morning. Hack and Lawton, however, weren’t going to let him carry them out immediately. They had other things in mind.

“Big emergency at the Pizza Hut,” Hack said as Rhodes came through the door. “Some fella out there just called it in. Ruth’s on the way, but you might wanna run out there and help her out.”

“Get Buddy or Duke to go,” Rhodes said. “I have work to do here.”

He used his no-nonsense tone, but Hack ignored it, as he often did. “I called Buddy. He’s on the way, but he’s out close to Milsby. It’ll take him ten minutes or so to get there. You could do it in less.”

“Not much less,” Rhodes said, “and I’m busy.”

Hack turned to Lawton. “The sheriff’s always busy. Too busy for little things like a riot at the Pizza Hut.”

“Riot?” Rhodes said.

The Pizza Hut wasn’t far from the college, and Rhodes hadn’t noticed anything happening there when he’d left the campus. It was a little early for a riot, anyway. The place couldn’t have been open more than ten or fifteen minutes.