The Closing: A Whippoorwill Hollow novel (The Whippoorwill Hollow novels) (18 page)

“Darlene’s driver’s license was an exhibit in the file. Her home address in Albany was on the license. I wanted to be able to warn Daniel if it appeared that someone was about to contact him so he would be sure to conceal his relationship with me. The clerk told me you looked at the file and he said you concentrated on an exhibit you thought was sold at Country Faire. Your interest in Eva Deatherage’s craft shop frightened me because I thought you might discover an ex parte conversation I had with her about her son’s guilt. I asked the sheriff to find out what you discussed with her. He sent one of his men to interview her, but she refused to talk to him.” The judge cast a worried look at Nate. “I assure you, Mister Abbitt, I had nothing to do with manufactured evidence and I know nothing about Crawford’s murder. What in God’s name has been going on in my county?”

A door slammed in the entry hall, followed by the sound of scuffling and a loud thud. Socrates bayed. The door to the office burst open and crashed against the wall. The judge jumped to his feet. Clarence stood in the doorway, his felt hat low over his eyes, his thick glasses streaked with sweat. He squinted at the judge and sucked in his breath. He widened his stance and pointed his pistol at the judge with a straight-armed two-fisted grip. “Drop it or I’ll shoot!”

The judge looked down at the burning cigar in his hand. He turned toward Clarence and lifted the cigar. “Who are you and what—”

Clarence’s gun exploded. The judge fell, knocking over the desk chair and collapsing on the carpet. Clarence leveled his gun on the judge’s prone body. Smoke floated up from the barrel. The sulphuric aroma of gunpowder filled the room. “Get his gun, Nate. I can’t see it. If he makes another move, I’ll have to shoot him again.”

It took Nate a moment to regain his presence of mind. Then he rose and walked around the desk. The judge lay sprawled on the floor, his arms and legs askew, a bloodstain spreading across the chest of his housecoat. His cigar lay beside him. The carpet smoldered under its glowing ash. Nate knelt and put his hand to the judge’s throat. There was no pulse. His eyes were lifeless.

“How bad is he?” Clarence held the gun on the judge, his hands shaking, his magnified bug eyes blinking behind his thick fogged-up glasses.

“He’s dead.”

All the air went out of Clarence’s lungs. His arms fell to his sides, and he dropped his gun. “Lord almighty. He gave me no choice. Why did he aim at me? I had the drop on him.”

Nate picked up the judge’s cigar, placed it in an ashtray on the desk, and stamped out the burning spot in the carpet.

“You saw it, Nate. He pointed his gun at me. He was ready to fire. I had to shoot.”

A woman’s voice called from the landing. “Edbert? Are you all right?”

Clarence looked up at the landing. “Oh, Lord.”

Betsy Herring ran down the stairs and rushed across the entry hall. Clarence caught her at the door. She struggled against him, craning her neck to see over his shoulder. “Edbert!”

“No, ma’am. You don’t want to go in there. You don’t want to see it.” Clarence pushed her into another room off the entry hall.

Nate could hear her sobs across the way. He sat down on the floor beside the judge’s corpse and leaned against the wall. Socrates’ baying trailed off. Betsy’s cries devolved into whimpers. Later, sirens wailed from the state road. Betsy must have called the sheriff when she heard the shots. The sirens screamed down the judge’s private road and stopped at the top of the hill. The sheriff’s men were in the process of opening the locked gate, Nate guessed. The moment was nigh when he must make a choice between a harsh truth and a benign lie. As it seemed was so often the case of late, the truth was his enemy. The lie was his friend. He had made this choice too many times. He had to stand. He had to act before the sheriff arrived.

Nate forced himself to stand. He looked out the window. He saw the flashing lights of patrol cars parked beside the fountain. Sheriff Feedlow and two of his deputies got out of the cars. Socrates trotted to the sheriff’s side. The sheriff and his men ignored the dog and strode to the porch. Nate heard the front door open and the tread of boots rushing across the entry hall. He heard the voices in the other room—Clarence’s old scratchy pipes and Betsy’s soft cries.

Nate pulled the sleeve of his suit jacket over his hand and nudged Darlene’s pistol off the desk. It fell to the carpet beside the judge’s outstretched hand. Nate rounded the desk and stood by the bookcase on the opposite wall.

Sheriff Feedlow entered the office, glanced at Nate, knelt, and put his hand to the judge’s throat. He straightened up, went to the office window, and looked out. He took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. After a short while, he smoothed out the crown of his hat, put it on, and turned to Nate. “Clarence Shifflett told me what he claims happened. It’s your turn.”

“The judge pointed his gun at me. Clarence kicked open the door and told the judge to drop the gun. The judge turned his gun on Clarence. Clarence shot him.”

The sheriff picked up Darlene’s pistol with a handkerchief and broke it open. “It’s not loaded.”

“Clarence and I had no way of knowing that.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The sheriff went back to the window and stared out at the night. There was a long silence. “You asked me the other day who set the rules in Buck County. The judge set the rules. He didn’t follow the law to a tee, but his way was better than the law. He was a decent man. He did a lot of good around these parts. You and Clarence are in a lot of trouble.”

Clarence sat on the stairs in the entry hall, holding his head in his hands. Nate sat beside him, watching paramedics roll Betsy through the door on a gurney and carry her to a van in the driveway. Malcolm Somers had arrived earlier. He was in the judge’s office with the corpse. George Maupin had appeared shortly after Somers. George and Sheriff Feedlow stood outside on the porch, talking. They came into the entry hall and walked over to Nate and Clarence. “You two have a lot to answer for,” the sheriff said.

George put his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you bring your suspicions to me?”

“I didn’t want to pit you against the judge without hard evidence. We came here to get that evidence, but we didn’t mean to harm the judge. The situation spun out of control.”

The sheriff said, “That’s a polite way to describe murder.”

“Hold on, Hubert,” George said, “We’ll deal with the judge’s death when Mac completes his preliminary investigation.” He turned to Nate and drew a heavy breath. “Hubert tells me he has evidence implicating you in Crawford’s murder.”

“It more than implicates him,” Feedlow said. “It proves he’s the killer.”

Nate said, “The evidence is false.”

“Bullshit.”

“Calm down, Hubert,” George said. “Let’s hear what Nate has to say.”

“There’s a problem in Buck County with rigged prosecutions and false evidence,” Nate said. “That’s why we came here tonight.”

George swiped his hand across his face. “This entire situation is surreal—these accusations against the judge, his death, accusations of murder against you. I hardly know what to believe.”

“We recorded my conversation with the judge. Listen to the tape. You can believe what you hear on it.”

“Where is the tape?” George asked.

“We have it,” the sheriff said. “It’s in the dining room.”

“I want to hear it now. Lives hang in the balance.”

“You better hope that tape backs you up,” the sheriff said to Nate, “because I don’t believe a word you’ve said.”

They all moved into the judge’s dining room and sat at one end of a large dining table. A crystal chandelier hung over the table and filled the room with bright light. Nate looked at the tape recorder with trepidation. The tape was double-edged. It would prove the judge conspired with Swiller to convict Long and Deatherage, but it would also prove he did not threaten Nate with Darlene’s gun. The sheriff would learn that Nate lied about Clarence’s claim of self-defense. Nate was guilty of obstruction of justice, and his lie about Clarence would hurt his credibility in claiming he was being framed for Crawford’s murder. Nate was on the horns of a dilemma. The tape helped him in one murder case and hurt him in the other.

The sheriff handed the recorder to Clarence. Clarence pressed play and the tape rolled. Nate’s voice described the encounter with Socrates. There was silence while Nate stood on the judge’s porch trying to decide what to do. The conversation with the judge finally began. George took notes. When the judge admitted he told Swiller not to defend Deatherage, the sheriff took off his hat, ran his hand through his hair, and grimaced. George said, “What the hell was Eddy thinking when he hooked up with that fool?” Later, when the judge described his relationship with Darlene, George’s fist tightened around his pen. “I should have looked into her background despite that damned motion in limine.”

Further along, the tape replayed Nate shouting “Kenneth Deatherage,” followed by several sentences in which Nate used Deatherage’s full name. Muffled sounds followed and then dead air. The reel spun round and round, but there was no sound. Almost a minute of silence passed.

Nate leaned forward. “The judge and I were talking during this part. Why isn’t the recorder playing what we said?”

Clarence said, “I don’t know.” He turned off the recorder and inspected the reel. He returned it to the spool and played it again. The same result occurred. “I don’t understand.” Clarence frowned at the recorder. “That last part where Nate said ‘Kenneth Deatherage’—that was my signal he was in trouble. I jumped out of the car and ran to the house. The recorder must have stopped taping after I left the car. Maybe I knocked it over or something went wrong with it when I got out. I don’t know.”

The sheriff shook his head. “You boys should be ashamed. You conducted this operation like rank amateurs.”

George had a troubled look on his face. “All we have to tell us what happened after that tape went dead is your word, Nate.”

The sheriff scoffed. “His word ain’t worth a damn to me.”

“Let’s hear him out, Hubert. What did you and the judge talk about after the tape stopped recording?”

“I accused the judge of conspiring with Deputy Jones to falsify evidence against Deatherage.”

George blanched.

The sheriff said, “What in hell makes you think Jones phonied up evidence?”

“I have documents that support my claim.” The sheriff’s men had brought Nate’s briefcase to the dining room along with the tape recorder. Nate retrieved from it the original and the carbon copy of the complaint Eva Deatherage filed. Nate explained the connection between the scarf and the theft and pointed to the altered date on the original complaint.

George held the documents up to the light.

The sheriff said, “You say these papers prove Darby changed the date on the original, but there’s another possibility. You could have changed the date on the copy.”

“I don’t have a motive to alter the date.”

“You have a damned good motive. Darby found evidence that says you killed Crawford. If you can prove he phonied up evidence in the Deatherage case, you might get off the hook for Crawford’s murder.” The sheriff took the original and copy from George and inspected them. “These papers are inconclusive, but I know a way to pin down the date of the theft. I keep a personal duty log. There’ll be an entry in my log of the date I talked to Eva. My log’s in my car. We’ll see who the liar is.” The sheriff walked out of the room.

Nate’s anxiety mounted. The sheriff was Jones’ boss, and he was close to Judge Herring. If he was a conspirator, his duty log would show a false date and Nate would likely be convicted of Crawford’s murder.

The sheriff returned with a black notebook with a worn cover. He leafed through the notebook, settled on a page, and stared at an entry. “Eva reported the break-in on June 12, more than a week after the girl’s murder. That scarf was still in Eva’s shop when Darby said he found it on Deatherage. Darby lied. Nate’s tellin the truth.” The sheriff looked at Nate with a surprised expression, and his hostility toward him seemed to evaporate.

George said, “All right, Nate. You accused the judge of telling Jones to plant the scarf. What did the judge say about that?”

“He said he didn’t know anything about it.”

“His denial was a lie.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think he conspired with Jones.”

George frowned. “He admitted he used Swiller to rig the Long and Deatherage cases. It’s a short jump from Swiller to Jones. Eddy turned crooked during the prosecution of Long four years ago. It figures he drew Jones into his corrupt scheme some time after that trial.”

“I thought so, too, before I spoke to the judge, but when I confronted him with my accusations, he seemed to know nothing about Jones’ crimes. I think Jones acted independently. They both corrupted Deatherage’s trial, but my guess is neither of them knew about the activities of the other.”

“I don’t buy it,” the sheriff said. “Darby ain’t smart enough to pull that off by himself. He’s a follower, not a leader. He takes orders and does what he’s told as good as anybody I’ve worked with, but that’s his limit. Good as his army record was, he was never promoted in rank because he can’t make decisions on his own. He wouldn’t try to frame Deatherage by himself. He wouldn’t know how to go about it. Someone smarter than Darby told him what to do and how to do it.” The sheriff stroked his chin. “It would have been easy for the judge to recruit Darby to help him rig a case. Darby’s a true believer. He wants to protect the citizenry, but he don’t question what people tell him to do. If I told him to attack a wall of fire, he’d jump in with both feet. The judge was the biggest authority figure in the county. If he told Darby to frame Deatherage to protect the county from a killer, there’s no doubt in my mind he would follow orders. It stands to reason the judge is the one who got Darby into this big mess.”

“Maybe,” Nate said, “but the judge admitted he used Swiller to rig convictions. He had nothing more to lose by admitting he conspired with Jones.”

The sheriff leaned back in his chair and seemed to consider that. “That’s a good point. Knowin the judge as well as I did, I think he would have wanted to make a clean breast of all his crimes once you found out what he was up to.” The sheriff paused, thinking. “The judge had almost no contact with Darby and he didn’t know him well. I doubt he would have trusted him with his secrets about these cases. I agree with Nate. The judge may not be the one who gave Darby his orders, but somebody told him what to do. He ain’t smart enough or mean enough to act alone. Someone else is mixed up in this scheme.”

“Did the judge implicate anyone else?” George asked Nate.

“No.”

“We need to know how far this rot has spread,” the sheriff said. “Let’s take a leaf out of Nate’s book. Let’s put that transmitter on Nate and tape-record a meetin between him and Jones.”

George’s eyes widened. “Have you lost your mind, Hubert? We can’t put more lives at risk. Besides, we can’t use Nate to tape Jones. He’s a suspect for Crawford’s murder.”

“Darby lied about the scarf in the Deatherage case. That casts a cloud of suspicion over his claims about Nate. That’s the problem with this mess. We can’t trust anything Darby’s told us, and he’s been square in the middle of every criminal investigation in this county for the last couple years. We need to get to the bottom of the lyin right now or we won’t be able to enforce the laws.”

“No,” George said. “I won’t allow it.”

The sheriff’s back stiffened. “You’re in charge of prosecutin crimes. I’m in charge of investigatin em. Darby’s my deputy. I need to know what he did and who he did it with. I’m goin forward with Nate and the tape recorder.” He turned to Nate. “We’ll put you together with Darby tonight, before he hears about the judge.”

George jumped to his feet. “You can’t do this, Hubert. This is crazy.”

The sheriff turned to Clarence. “Put a new reel of tape in that recorder and make sure it’s workin right. Nate and I will head over to Darby’s house right now.”

George held up his hands. “Hold on now. There’s a legal problem here. Nate and Clarence are private citizens. They can record a conversation without violating the Constitution. This time, you’ll be in charge, Hubert. This taping is an act of the state. It’s unconstitutional without a warrant. Normally, I’d get Eddy Herring to issue a warrant, but I can’t very well do that tonight.”

“Call Judge Blackwell,” Nate said. “He’ll issue the warrant.”

George grimaced. “All right. I’ll get old Harry Blackwell out of bed, but don’t go near Jones until I get that warrant, Hubert. Wait for my call telling you I have it, or you’ll poison any evidence you might find. Don’t run off half-cocked like you did in the Creighton Long case. None of this would have happened if you had played by the rules back then.”

“And Long would’ve killed more little boys.”

“Maybe, but heed my advice this time. Don’t charge over to Jones’ house before I give you the green light.”

“All right, but get your damned warrant before dawn. I want Nate to talk with Darby before he hears the news about the judge.”

“It’ll take me a few hours at most.” George looked at Nate. “We’ve still got a loose end here, Nate. What happened at the end of your conversation that caused the judge to draw his gun on you?”

Nate had to lie. “There was a great deal of noise in the entry hall when Clarence rushed into the house. The judge picked up his gun then. He may have thought someone was breaking in. I don’t know. Clarence kicked open the door to the study. The judge was pointing the gun at me at that time, but that may have been unintentional. He turned the gun on Clarence and Clarence shot him.”

George looked skeptical, but he gathered his notes and put them in his briefcase. “Until we know how this mess with Jones sorts out, you’re a suspect in the Crawford murder, and we need to complete our investigation of the judge’s death before I can decide what to do about it. I’m sure you understand, Nate, you’re under a cloud of suspicion.”

George turned to the sheriff. “Lock Nate and Clarence in jail tonight until you hear from me about the warrant. When you and Nate finish taping Jones, put Nate back in jail until we can review whatever Jones tells you.” George shook his finger in the sheriff’s face. “Remember, Hubert, if you approach Jones before I get that warrant, you’ll destroy our case against him.”