The Closing: A Whippoorwill Hollow novel (The Whippoorwill Hollow novels) (19 page)

It was three in the morning when Sheriff Feedlow locked Nate and Clarence in opposite cells. It was hot, humid, dark, and dead quiet. Clarence stretched out on his cot and rhythmic snores soon cut through the silence. Nate couldn’t sleep. He replayed his meeting with Judge Herring, combing his memory for signs of the judge’s involvement with Jones. He found none. The judge’s words, demeanor, and actions were consistent. He’d conspired with Swiller to convict Long and Deatherage, but he seemed to know nothing about Jones’ crimes or Crawford’s murder.

Nate rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling. It was clear that Jones falsified evidence against Deatherage and probably against Jimmy Washington, but based on his reaction to the discovery of Crawford’s body, Jones was not involved in Crawford’s murder. The sheriff was convinced Jones could not have acted alone. Someone in Buck County conspired with him but not with the judge, and that person was likely Crawford’s murderer.

Malcolm Somers might be involved with Jones. That would explain how Jones got access to B+ blood to stain the scarf. On the other hand, Somers didn’t impress Nate as particularly smart or creative. He seemed more of a follower than a leader. Nate thought it was possible he was part of a broader conspiracy, but Nate didn’t think Jones took direction from him.

George had said he understood what Nate did in Selk County. “The burden on the prosecution is too great. The standard of proof is too high.” Nate pondered the possibility that George was Jones’ mentor. Nate had yielded to temptation. Maybe George was no better.

Nate turned over on his side on the hard cot. Moonlight cast a shaft of gray mist through the window. He stared at the striped shadows of the bars on the floor. Clarence’s snoring droned on.

Nate was confident George was not Jones’ mentor. He might be capable of falsifying evidence against a man he considered to be guilty, but he couldn’t have murdered Crawford. Very few men were hard enough and cold enough to beat a helpless man to a bloody pulp. Everything he knew about George from their days in law school to the present convinced him that George was not capable of such cruelty.

Nate sat up on the edge of the cot and looked at the cell block door, thinking about the sheriff asleep in his office behind it. Nate had worked with Sheriff Feedlow many times, and he knew the sheriff was a hard man.

He went to the window and looked outside. The stars shone brightly. The full moon hung low over the horizon, just above the mountain range.

The sheriff could be cold and ruthless, and yet he had decided, over George’s objections, to go forward with a taped conversation between Nate and Jones, supposedly to root out the corruption in Buck County. But the sheriff had never exhibited a passion to eradicate corruption before. Feedlow’s record of fighting crime was spotty, but he was a master of self-preservation. Perhaps his decision to tape Jones had nothing to do with discovering who’d conspired with Jones, and everything to do with self-preservation.

A car’s headlights rounded the turn on Ewell Street. The light splashed into Nate’s eyes and swept past the jail. An owl hooted in the darkness. Nate searched the shadows of a gum tree for the bird of prey but couldn’t see it.

Nate replayed the night’s events, searching for signs of deception in Feedlow’s words and actions. There were no obvious indications of deceit, but the sheriff was shrewd. He’d dismissed George’s concerns about the risk of violence posed by a taped meeting with Jones, but the risk was great. Jones was a deputy. He would be armed. If the sheriff was the man who told Jones to falsify evidence, Nate’s death would halt the investigation and the sheriff would survive.

Nate gazed out the window. A crescent of pale haze appeared on the horizon, the first hint of the approaching dawn. The cell block door clanked and the light came on. Nate turned to see Sheriff Feedlow at the door of his cell, a chaw of tobacco bulging from his jaw and a half smile on his thin lips. “Time to go. George got his almighty warrant. Darby gets up at dawn to start his shift. We have a half hour to catch him unaware.”

The sheriff escorted Nate to a patrol car. About ten miles out of town, he turned off the state road to a narrow dirt road. “Nobody lives down this road except Darby. There won’t be anybody around to get in our way.”

The car heaved and pitched over a deeply rutted road that tunneled through dense sumac, honeysuckle, and blackberry vines. Nate saw a break in the brush ahead. The sheriff stopped the car, cut off the headlights well short of the break, and spat out the window. “We’ll walk from here so Darby won’t hear the car. I don’t want him to have time to think before you talk to him.”

The sheriff reached across Nate to open the glove compartment and withdraw a pistol. He offered it to Nate.

“Why do I need a gun?”

“I said I’d make sure nobody got hurt when we taped Darby, but the truth is I can’t control the situation. Darby keeps his service revolver next to his bed. He’ll bring it to the door. I’ll try to cover you, but once you’re inside his house he’ll have a clear shot at you. I figured you’d want to protect yourself.”

Nate stared at the gun. If the sheriff was Jones’ conspirator, he wouldn’t care whether Darby killed Nate or Nate killed Darby. Either way, the sheriff could shoot the survivor and claim they’d killed each other, and his complicity in the scheme would never see the light of day.

The sheriff thrust the gun at Nate. “Go ahead. Take it.” Nate took the gun.

The sheriff handed Nate the transmitter and the original and copy of Eva Deatherage’s complaint. “Here’s the way I see it. We’ll leave the tape recorder runnin in the car. I’ll find a spot by the house under a window and I’ll try to cover you from there. When you get inside, tell Darby you want him to see some papers before he jails you. Show him the dates on the complaint forms and tell him you gave copies to Clarence and told him to take the forms to the law if anything happens to you. Tell Darby you’re willin to make a trade. You’ll get off his back about the Deatherage case if he gets off your back about Crawford, but you need to know who else is mixed up in his scheme so you can protect yourself.”

“It might work.”

“If you got a better idea, say so.”

Crickets and tree toads sang. A breeze stirred. The pungent odor of mowed grass drifted in the car window. Nate pointed the gun at the sheriff. “Give me your gun.”

The sheriff’s smile fell. He wrenched the gun from Nate’s hand. Nate rubbed his wrist and groaned.

“You don’t know much about guns, do you?” The sheriff released a clasp on the hammer of the gun. “That’s the safety. You can’t fire the gun until you release the safety. What the hell are you tryin to pull?”

“If you helped Jones falsify evidence, you want him to kill me or me to kill him. You’ll kill the one who’s still standing and your crimes will stay in the dark.”

“You’re a lawyer all the way. You lawyers think everybody is as crooked as you are, and you make things complicated when they’re plain as day. Your situation is simple, Nate. Everyone thinks you’re a murderer. I’m the only one willin to give you a chance to prove you’re innocent.”

“That’s what you want me to think, but you could be setting me up.”

“Why would I bother to set you up? Hell, I could kill you right now if I wanted to. Lawyers.” He shook his head. “Well, I tell you what. I’d like to know who’s the brains behind Darby’s crooked doins, but I won’t lose any sleep if I don’t find the sumbitch. It’s not that important to me. You’re the one who’s in trouble. If you don’t want to take the risk to tape Darby, I’ll drive you back to the jail and lock you up safe and sound. It’s up to you. What do you want to do?” The sheriff waited.

Nate considered the sheriff’s description of his dilemma and concluded he was right. He had no choice. He taped the transmitter to his chest and got out of the car. The sheriff set the recorder on the seat and turned it on. “I’m gonna trust you with this gun, but I won’t hesitate to shoot you down if you turn on me again. You understand me?”

Nate nodded gravely. The sheriff handed the gun to him and Nate eased it inside his belt at the small of his back. He and the sheriff walked along the dirt road to a clearing where a small frame house sat beneath a pair of huge sweet gum trees. The yard had been mowed the day before and the smell of cut grass filled the air. Outbuildings sat on one side of the house. A patrol car and a pickup truck were parked in one of the sheds. The house was dark. The sheriff said, “We’re in luck. He’s not up yet.”

They walked to the front stoop. Blades of wet grass stuck to their shoes and morning dew splattered their trouser cuffs. The moon dipped below the mountains, and shafts of sunlight speared the sky on the eastern horizon. They stopped under one of the sweet gums. The sheriff drew his gun, pointed to his left, and whispered to Nate. “I’ll find a window where I can see you when you get inside. Gimme a minute to get there.” The sheriff crept around the house.

Nate leaned against the gum tree and wiped his brow with his sleeve. His legs trembled. He stepped up on the stoop, took a heavy breath, and knocked on the door. No one came. He rapped again harder. “Deputy Jones!” No response. He looked in a window. Dark forms squatted against the opposite wall. He could make out a sofa, a desk, a table with a lamp.

The sound of hurried footsteps came from the left side of the house, and the sheriff suddenly rounded its corner, his gun pointed skyward. “Get away from the window,” he shouted.

Nate stepped back. “What’s going on?”

“Stay back.” The sheriff kicked the door open and disappeared inside. Nate heard his steps running to the rear of the house. Nate leaned inside the doorway. The first light of dawn seeped in the windows and cast a gray hue over the room. He saw the sofa and the desk he had spied from the window. He stepped inside. A recliner sat beside a window to his left. Dim light fell on bare feet draped over the footrest. He lurched backward and grabbed for his gun. It slipped out of his hand and clattered on the floor. He backed into a wall and knocked a lamp off a table.

Nate peered into the shadows until he was sure of what he was looking at. A man was sprawled on the recliner, wearing nothing but his undershorts. His flesh was pale, his legs thick and strong, his chest bulging with muscle. A shotgun lay across his legs. His face and the top of his head were blown away. Blood was splattered in an oval pattern on the plaster above him. A bloodstain on the chair’s headrest framed what was remaining of the man’s head, and blood was pooled on the floor around the recliner.

Nate sat on the sofa and put his head between his knees. Nausea came. He lurched out the door and vomited. When he was done, he sat on the ground under one of the gum trees. The sheriff came out of the house and sat on the stoop. “You see Darby?”

Nate nodded.

“Pretty bad.” The sheriff pulled the chaw of tobacco out of his mouth and threw it across the yard. “When I looked in the window and saw he was shot, I thought the killer might still be here, but no one murdered him. His own shotgun is lyin in his lap. It’s been fired. The doors were locked. No signs of a break-in. It’s a suicide. Open and shut case.”

“Why would he kill himself?”

“Someone told him about the judge, I reckon.”

“Who could have told him? The judge has been dead only a few hours.”

“Gossip runs through these mountains faster than a deer runnin from a pack a wolves. Lots of people could have spread the word—the boys on the rescue squad, people at the hospital who tended to Betsy, Mac’s help in the medical examiner’s office. Whoever it was must have called Darby just before we got here.” The sheriff scowled. “That damned warrant caused this. The body’s still warm. We got here minutes too late.”

“He didn’t seem the type to take his own life.”

“I didn’t think so either. I thought he would stand and fight and try to claim what he did was good for the county. The last thing I expected him to do was take a coward’s way out. I didn’t think he was mean enough to kill a poor old drunk either, but it looks like he killed Crawford and couldn’t live with the guilt and shame.” The sheriff stood. “I’ve got to call Mac Somers and get him out here. I’ll take you back to jail.”

Later that morning lying on his cot in the cell, Nate fell into a fitful sleep. He awoke that evening at dusk to sunlight shining through the bars to stripe his face. He was drenched in sweat. The air was heavy and close. He sat up on the edge of the cot. Clarence was sitting on his cot in the opposite cell.

“What time is it?” Nate said.

“I don’t know. Hubert took my watch.”

Nate went to the window and looked outside. The sun had set, but there was still a peach-colored glow in the western sky. Nate returned to the cot and mopped sweat from his face with the end of a sheet.

“What do you think they’ll do with us?” Clarence said.

“I don’t know.”

They didn’t say anything for a while. Then Clarence said, “I’ve been going over it in my mind all day. I kicked the door open. I saw you. I saw the judge standing over you with the gun in his hand. I told him to drop it. He turned and pointed his gun at me and I shot him. I keep going over it, trying to find the place where I went wrong.”

Nate didn’t say anything.

“The judge said something right before I fired,” Clarence said. “I couldn’t understand what he said. You hear it?”

“He said, ‘Who are you?’” Nate went to the window and looked outside. A cornfield stood across the road. A breeze rustled the stalks, a dry coarse sound.

“I’m too old for this line of work,” Clarence said. “I’ve been trying to deny the effects of my age, but it’s clear to me now. My failing body parts don’t fit the job requirements. With my weak eyesight I aimed at the biggest part of the judge’s body to make sure I hit him. Hubert told me the bullet went through his heart.” Clarence took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “I wish to God it had turned out some other way.” Clarence lowered his voice. “His wife was mighty torn up.”

“Let it go, Clarence. There’s nothing we can do to change what happened.”

Night fell. Clarence stretched out on his cot. His rhythmic snoring resumed.

Nate lay awake for hours. Before dawn he fell asleep. He dreamed about the rainy night when he wrecked his car. He lay on his back in the dark in the pouring rain. Four bodies lay near him in the grass. Darlene Updike, Henry Crawford, Judge Herring, Deputy Jones. Crawford, Judge Herring, and Jones were dead. Darlene was alive. She lay beside Nate. She grasped his hand. Her hand was small and soft and cold. “Please stop,” she said. “Please. Please don’t.” Her eye was swollen. She bled from her mouth. She turned her head to look at Nate. “Please don’t. Please stop.” She wasn’t Darlene. She was Christine. “I hate you.”

Nate awoke with a start. An oblong shape eclipsed the light in the cell. Nate’s eyes came into focus to see Sheriff Feedlow bending over him, his wide-brimmed hat shading his face and blocking the light. “Wake up, Nate. Let’s go.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“I’m releasin you.” The sheriff led Nate out of the cell block and into his office. Clarence was already there, standing by a window, looking outside. The sheriff handed Nate his watch, wallet, and cash. “You’re free to go.”

“What about Crawford’s murder?”

“My men searched Darby’s house. They found a ring of keys and a drawer full of molds for making keys. One of his keys fit the lock on the trunk of your car. In Darby’s shed they found a cotton swab with blood on it. Mac Somers says the swab came from his lab. It has Crawford’s blood on it. One of the keys on Darby’s ring unlocked the door to the lab. You were right. He was fixin to frame you for Crawford’s murder.”

Nate let out a long breath.

“George says he can’t make a case against you and Clarence for the judge’s killin either. There’s no evidence to disprove your claim of self-defense.” The sheriff handed Nate his car keys. “Your car’s parked out front. George said to tell you to go see him before you return to Selk County. He wants to talk to you about the Deatherage case.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

“Don’t thank me. This was George’s decision. I don’t agree with it.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

The sheriff stared hard at Nate. “I’ve been in law enforcement a long time. I’ve questioned a lot of men. You get a feel for the truth after a while. I don’t know what went down in the judge’s house, but I know you’re lyin about it. When you finish with George, go home. Don’t come back here. You’re not welcome in Buck County.”

Nate didn’t argue. He and Clarence went out to Nate’s car and got in. Nate sat for a moment, thinking about how close he had come to being indicted for murder.

Clarence said, “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be okay, I guess. How about you?”

Clarence pulled his hat down low over his eyes. “I’ll never be the same.”

Nate and Clarence drove to the Buck County town square in silence. Nate left Clarence sitting on a park bench under the statue of Captain Bloxton and walked to the county office building. George’s secretary ushered him into George’s office. George sat at his desk. He was dressed formally, as though he was headed to court, in a three-piece blue suit and a dark red tie. He looked up at Nate and smiled. “Nate, come in and have a seat.”

Nate sat in a chair across the desk from George.

George said, “I called the clerk of the Virginia Supreme Court of Appeals yesterday. I advised him that Judge Herring admitted on tape that he convinced Swiller not to present a defense of Deatherage at his trial in order to ensure his conviction. I told the clerk to inform the justices that I want to stipulate to an order reversing the conviction and remanding the case to the circuit court for a new trial. I made a copy of the tape recording and sent the original to the clerk along with a letter summarizing the evidence of corruption you discovered.” George handed Nate a copy of the letter and the stipulation, and Nate looked them over. The letter urged the court to reverse Deatherage’s conviction on the grounds that the trial judge deprived Deatherage of his right to legal representation.

Nate was stunned. There was no provision in the Virginia Code or the court’s rules for such informal contact with the court. Appellate rules required Nate to present the argument about Deatherage’s Sixth Amendment right to competent counsel in his appellate brief. George would normally have opposed Nate’s arguments in a reply brief. The court would have heard oral arguments on the issues and later rendered a decision. The entire process would have consumed months, and with the extensive forensic evidence against Deatherage, the outcome would have by no means been certain. George was attempting to short-circuit the process by conceding the issue before Nate had even raised it. The decision seemed rash and unprecedented. “I’ve never heard of a prosecutor contacting the court this way,” Nate said.

George shrugged. “There’s no rule authorizing it, but I figured you wouldn’t object. It’s indisputable that Swiller didn’t defend Deatherage. I see no purpose in wasting the court’s time and my energy arguing about it. I’d rather get on with prosecuting him again.”

George’s action was so irregular that the court might very well deny his request, but it was true that Nate had no reason to object to it. Nate wondered if George’s surprising generosity extended beyond the Deatherage case. “What about the other capital cases?” he asked.

“The judge made no admissions about the other cases. There are no grounds to reverse those convictions.”

“Swiller was their lawyer. He was incompetent, and Judge Herring did nothing to protect the rights of those men.”

“Yesterday I called each of the lawyers who replaced Randy and told them what you uncovered about the Long and Deatherage cases. They can take whatever actions they deem appropriate to protect their clients, but I won’t help them. What the judge and Jones did in the Deatherage case was illegal, but that doesn’t change the facts of the other cases. All the men on death row from Buck County are murderers. If I’m required to retry them, the outcome will be the same. They’ll be convicted and they’ll die in the electric chair. That goes for Deatherage as well. I’m confident I’ll convict him a second time.”

“The Deatherage case is weak. You don’t have the smoking gun. Without the bloody scarf, you can’t prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Deatherage killed Updike.”

“The forensic evidence is powerful. Odoms puts Deatherage at the window where the body was found. Deatherage fled the scene.”

“Crawford was in the warehouse at the time of the murder. He could have killed her. He’s dead. You can’t put him on the stand and ask him what happened that night.”

George paused. “What proof do you have that Crawford was in the warehouse?”

Now that Judge Herring and Deputy Jones were dead, Nate felt he could reveal Odoms’ role in Nate’s investigation to George without endangering him. Nate said, “Willis Odoms saw Crawford leave the warehouse right after the murder. Crawford’s presence there creates a textbook case of reasonable doubt.”

George looked concerned. “We’re not in law school studying textbooks, Nate. We’re in the real world. You know Deatherage killed that girl. If he gets out, he’ll kill again. You should be careful what you present to the jury. If you free Deatherage, the next murder will fall on your shoulders.”

Nate took a moment to digest George’s words. “That attitude is what brought me down in Selk County and that same attitude brought down Judge Herring and Jones here in Buck County. I have a duty to defend Deatherage. I’ll call Odoms to the stand. A jury will decide whether Deatherage goes free or goes to the electric chair. I won’t make that decision.”

George shrugged. “I didn’t mean to imply you should compromise your duty to defend Deatherage. Your clients deserve your best effort, but rest assured I have ample untainted evidence to convict Deatherage again.” George stood. “Much as I’d like to spend more time with an old friend, I’m sure you understand I have a lot of work to do and I’m pressed for time.” He extended his hand. Nate stood and shook it.

In the hallway, Nate stopped and looked back at George’s office. In their first meeting about the case, George had been tired and fearful of Judge Herring. The night of the judge’s death, he was tense and nervous. Now, he was relaxed, confident, and almost arrogant. Nate understood the change to some degree. Judge Herring’s grip on the county had squeezed him for a long time and his death gave George newfound freedom and authority, but the change also troubled Nate. Despite his disclaimer, he’d clearly suggested that Nate should withhold evidence that might exculpate Deatherage. Nate worried that George was going to have to learn his own hard lessons.