The Huckleberry Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (10 page)

“Anything else?”

Tully hesitated. He didn’t want the FBI in town shaking things up and scaring off his criminals. “Listen, Angela, I’ll tell you something but it’s just a speculation of mine. Will you keep it under your hat until I get it checked out?”

“As you can see, Sheriff, I’m not wearing a hat. But if I were wearing one, I would keep your secret under it for a while. But you have to let me in on the investigation.”

“I can do that. Can you stay in Blight City for a week or so?”

“I probably can, unless something or someone gets blown up somewhere else.”

“Good. What I want to tell you is that I think there were four intended victims up at the huckleberry patch, but one of them got away. He was creased by a bullet and had the wound treated in emergency at the local hospital. I’m going out this afternoon to look for him. If we can find the fourth guy, if there is one, our case is solved, except for catching the killers. He’ll at least know who the bad guys are. And let me say there is absolutely nothing to that other aspect of my fame with which you need concern yourself. I’m always a perfect gentleman.” He watched her closely to see if the little grammatical flourish had made any impression. Apparently not. “If you would like to join me in my search, I would be most happy to have you along.”

Agent Phelps smiled. She had perfect white teeth, a dimple in her left cheek, and deep blue eyes. She was surprisingly pretty when she smiled. “It’s a deal, Sheriff.”

A HALF HOUR later Tully and the FBI were cruising the neighborhood where Scotchman Peak Road crossed the railroad tracks into town. The street they drove on was unpaved and thick with dust. The houses were ancient and large, with numerous old vehicles parked out front. Several dried-up and weedy lawns were adorned with cars up on blocks. One yard contained an assortment of upscale motorcycles. Three men lounged on the porch steps, smoking and drinking beer.

“This looks like a good place to get some local information,” Tully said, pulling over to the edge of the road.

“It looks more like a good place to get a serious beating,” the agent said.

Tully got out. “It might be better if you stay in the car,
Agent Phelps.” She didn’t object. Tully strolled up the walk. He heard her window go down, so she must have reached over and turned on the ignition key. He suspected she had also drawn her gun.

The three men eyed him coldly.

“Howdy, boys,” he said. “Nice day. I see you’re out getting yourselves a little sun.”

“And a little privacy,” one of them said. He had a ponytail that flopped over his shoulder as he started to get up.

The apparent boss of the group, a large, tattooed, bearded, and beaded man, put his hand on Ponytail’s arm. Ponytail sat back down.

“Relax, Lefty,” the big man said. “No point getting yourself knocked senseless before we even know what the sheriff wants. So, how you doin’ these days, Bo?”

“Fair to middling, Mitch. You been staying out of trouble?”

“What do you think?”

“I think not, but I’ve got other things on my mind today.”

“Wouldn’t be those killings up on Scotchman, would it?”

Tully put his foot up on the porch’s first step and rested his hands on the back of his leg. “Yeah, it would. And also the killing of Lennie the other night.”

The big biker shook his head. “Lennie never hurt nobody in his entire life. He was dumb as a rock but he was okay. And he knew how to keep his mouth shut.”

“You and your friends here probably even helped him with his beer-can collection.”

“We did what we could.”

“The killers up on Scotchman probably didn’t know Lennie possessed the talent for keeping mum about what he observed. It’s likely he saw them up on the road and could have identified them.”

Mitch leaned forward. “How come they wiped out those kids? You got any idea, Bo?”

“I’ve got nothing, Mitch. Pap says it had to be money, but I bet the kids didn’t have a penny among them. I figure they knew something and were killed to shut them up. These are bad guys who did it—no offense.”

Mitch snuffed out his cigarette on the step and flicked the butt into the yard. “Well, I’d like to help you, Bo, but we haven’t seen any strangers hanging about all summer. We hear anything about who killed Lennie, I’ll get in touch.”

“Good. I knew you would. But what I’m looking for right now is maybe a house where a bunch of kids might be hanging out, a bunch of young guys, maybe some girls, probably runaway kids with nowhere to go but who may be getting by in a big old house around here.”

Mitch turned and looked at the skinny one of the three, a mop of orange hair ballooning out from his head. “Tell him, Red. You may need a favor from the sheriff someday.”

Red’s jaw sagged open. He slowly shook his head.

“I said tell him.”

“Uh, sure, Sheriff,” Red said. “That big old house down there on the corner.” He pointed. “The one with the broken
picket fence around it. Must be a dozen hippie kids staying there at times.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember this, Red. What’s your last name?”

“Smith.”

“I’d already guessed that.” He reached down and shook Mitch’s hand. “I appreciate the help.”

“I only do it for Lennie.”

“I know, Mitch. Surely you didn’t expect me to think you were getting soft in your old age.”

As Tully got back in the car he noticed the FBI agent slipping her gun back into her shoulder bag.

“I see you were ready for action, Agent Phelps.”

“You may call me Angie, Sheriff. And yes, I was. That’s a mean-looking bunch.”

“Those boys not only look mean, they are. I much prefer to deal with good guys, but good guys don’t know anything.”

“You’re right about that. So, did you find out anything?” She kept her eyes on the bikers as Tully pulled out into the street.

“I found out what I was looking for, but I don’t know if what I was looking for is what I need to be looking for.”

“I can understand that.”

Tully pointed to the house on the corner. “The bikers told me a bunch of hippie kids live there, probably mostly runaways or kids whose parents booted them out on the street. A boy with a bullet wound in his arm was picked up
on the road down the mountain a ways from where the killings took place. The logging-truck driver who picked him up dropped him off in this neighborhood. So my hunch is he might at some point have lived at that house. Maybe he went back there after the shooting. Maybe he’s still there.”

He parked in front of the house with the broken picket fence. Agent Phelps got out with him.

“You don’t have to bother with this,” he told her.

“Yes, I do,” she said. “I’m not along to observe Blight County law-enforcement methods.”

He glanced at her as if surprised. “I thought you were.”

“No.”

“All right! Then I’ll use my usual Blight County law-enforcement methods. I get results a lot quicker with them.”

“That’s my understanding, Sheriff.”

“Call me Bo.”

“Bo.”

Tully knocked on the door. A girl’s voice called from inside, “Who’s there?”

“Sheriff Bo Tully.”

“And FBI agent Angela Phelps!” Angie called out.

“There’s nobody home!”

“I’ll talk to you, then,” Tully said, pushing open the screen door and stepping inside.

A teenage girl in tan shorts and a man’s work shirt sat on a couch that looked as if it had spent several winters outdoors.
“You can’t just walk in here like you owned the place. Don’t you need a warrant or something?”

“That’s only on TV,” Tully told her. “Besides, I’m not here to arrest anybody.” He turned back to the door. “It’s okay, Agent Phelps. This young lady invited us in.”

Angie stepped in, shaking her head.

“I did not!” the girl said. She seemed to relax a little upon seeing a woman. “I really don’t know anything about anything. And I’ll be in big trouble if anybody finds out I talked to the police.”

“How old are you?” Angie asked.

“Twenty-one.”

Angie held out her FBI identification. The girl bent over and examined it. “I never talked to anybody from the FBI before.”

“What’s your name?” the agent asked.

“Jenny.”

“Well, Jenny, you tell us what we need to know, we’ll take care of you.”

“Yeah, right, in juvie!” She rolled her eyes.

“No, not in juvie,” Tully said. “We’ll find you a place that’s safe and where you’re free to go as you please.” He pulled up a ratty-looking armchair and sat down gingerly.

“Yeah, I bet. So what do you want to know?”

“A young man stopped by here a while back. He had injured his arm and went down to the emergency room to get the wound treated. Is he still living here?”

“No.”

“Listen, Jenny, I’m not looking for him because he broke any laws. I think he may be in danger.”

A nervous look came over Jenny’s face. “Everybody seems to be looking for him.”

“Who else?”

“Some bad guys. Really bad guys. They burst in and searched the whole house, but he had left already. They had guns.”

Tully was silent for a moment. “Do you know where he went?”

“No.”

The FBI agent spoke up. “Jenny, it’s very important that we find him before the bad guys do. Can you tell us his name?”

The girl stared at the agent, searching her face for some kind of assurance. Then she said, “Craig.”

“What’s his last name?”

Jenny thought for a moment. “Wilson, I think.”

“Do his parents live around here?”

“I don’t think he has any parents. He sometimes talked about an uncle, a long-haul truck driver. Craig said he planned on becoming a truck driver like his uncle. He worked all summer hoping he would make enough for a down payment on a truck.”

The agent jotted something in her notebook. “Do you know where the uncle lives?”

“Spokane.”

“Do you know his name?”

“No.”

“Where do your parents live?”

“Don’t have any.” She looked about uneasily.

“What’s your last name?”

“Smith.”

Tully handed her his card. “Jenny Smith, you have been a big help. If you need anything at all, you call me. We’ll take care of you.”

She looked at the card in her hand. “Okay.”

“It might be a good idea not to mention to your friends that we were here. If the bad guys come back and you need help in a hurry, run to the house down the street where the biker gang hangs out. The leader is Mitch. Tell him you’re a friend of mine and he’ll take care of you.”

“I know who he is,” she said. “He’s scary.”

Tully smiled. “He’s scary all right, Jenny. But I’m a whole lot scarier, and Mitch knows it. He’ll keep you safe.”

•  •  •

Back in the car, Angie said, “I thought that was nice, the way you told Jenny to run into the arms of a biker gang if she gets scared.”

Tully sighed. “Mitch will protect her.”

“You could have taken her to child services.”

“Arrest her, you mean. For all you know, Jenny could be eighteen. She could be an adult.”

They continued their argument all the way back to the courthouse. Tully introduced Angie to Daisy, Lurch, Herb,
and a couple of deputies hanging out in the briefing room. He and Angie went into his office and he closed the door. She settled into the chair across the desk from him and he flopped into his chair.

“How tall are you?” he asked.

“Five eight. Why?”

“What’s your shoe size?”

She eyed him skeptically. “None of your business.”

Tully waved a hand as if to dismiss that idea. “Listen, I want you with me on the next phase of this investigation. That’s a compliment, by the way. I’ve never before taken a woman with me on an investigation, particularly an FBI woman. Since you’re the first, I want you to be properly outfitted.”

“You’re going to buy me an outfit?”

“Sure. Well, actually, the county is. So what’s your shoe size?”

“Eight. I assure you, however, that the FBI is perfectly capable of buying me an outfit.”

“Yeah, I know, but the Fed penny crunchers would demand a bunch of info and explanations and all that.”

“Well, I suppose the county could loan me the outfit for a day.”

“Now you’re talking. So here’s the plan. There’s a swamp out north of town a ways. I have a feeling that swamp has something to do with the killings up on Scotchman.”

“A swamp? A swamp was involved in the killings?”

Tully tapped a pencil on his desk. “Maybe. Years ago beavers
built a dam across Scotchman Creek. The water backed up and flooded out the road, and the county had to raise the level of the road. Then the beavers built another dam and another dam, until they had dams stretching miles back through the woods. Other creeks fed into the whole mess. The area is impassable.”

Angie leaned forward. “Let me see if I understand this. You think this swamp had something to do with killings that took place miles away, and now you and I are going to make our way into this impassable bog in search of something. Exactly what is this something?”

“I wish I knew. I flew over the area yesterday and shot a bunch of photos. I saw a few spots I want to check out and some things that looked like buildings. I don’t know why someone would build anything out in the middle of a swamp.”

“So what’s the plan, Bo?”

“I’ll pick you up at your hotel about eight tomorrow morning. You probably should wear work pants, if you have them.”

“I always travel with a pair of jeans.”

“Good. Do you have a hat with a brim on it?”

“How on earth could I forget an essential like that!”

Tully made himself a note. “I’ll bring you a one-size-fits-all cap. My head lice have pretty much cleared up and I don’t think you have to be concerned about them. The reason I mention a hat with a brim is that the mosquitoes may be fierce in the swamp. They’ll lap up mosquito dope like it’s
good bourbon. The only way to keep them off you is to wear mosquito netting so it hangs down over the brim of the hat, but a cap will work. Wear a sweatshirt. It’ll be hot but better than getting eaten alive. Otherwise, wear a shirt on top of a shirt. And wear gloves.”

Angie shook her head and smiled. “This outing sounds like a lot of fun.”